Devil's Playground
by La Fata Aurora
Summary: /AU-Chair/ She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.
1. Prologue

Devil's Playground  
>By La Fata Aurora<p>

* * *

><p>Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

This world is different. In this world, Serena van der Woodsen's hair, although still resembling spun gold, wasn't the envy of every Manhattan socialite. Her eyes, although as clear as the ethereal skies, didn't catch every man's eye. Think that this is too much of an idealistic world? Cease, for it is not. You are still in the Big Apple—the same fledging streets, the hordes of suits, stilettos and Starbucks, the golden way that is 5th Avenue—however, there is one simple variation: twenty-four years ago, Aphrodite decided to smile at Eleanor Waldorf, instead of, then Society's Darling, Lily van der Woodsen.

And what a difference that made.

Many say that it was her lips. They were perfect, ruby-red, a provocative bow shape that drove members of the opposite sex wild. She was ten when she was first made aware of this fact, all the while innocently walking to her limo from a shortened flight from Paris. She didn't understand it back then, this fascination of the common masses towards her lips. To her, they were _just_ lips. She saw them everyday in the mirror. Ate with them. Nothing special.

"B."

Apparently, she was the only one who thought that way.

"B!" Serena tried again, now with a hushed whisper. 'B' gave her a distracted look, and as if waking from her reverie, was assaulted by an explosion of Vivaldi.

She grimaced prettily in effect.

"What?"

Serena was now giving her an odd look. 'B' responded by glaring back.

"B, are you okay?" the blonde's frown cast a dark contrast over her golden de la Renta. She lowered her voice, watchful of other eyes, "You've been out of it these days."

"Huh, yeah." The brunette murmured, rising up from the Victorian settee in the middle of the buzzing room. She looked ahead, her mouth suddenly craving for a glass of champagne. "S, I'll be right back."

Even Serena's disapproving sigh didn't hold her back. Like a floating vision in her red Valentino, 'B' trudged forward, calmly ignoring the usual attention and the adoring glances that this living, breathing vignette elicited. Passing underneath the arch that divided the living room and the foyer, she zigzagged her way across a few flowery phrases, strategically grabbing the first champagne glass and shoving it to her lips to avoid conversation. She was exhausted, she realized. Raw. Totally uncharacteristic of Manhattan's famed 'Princess' if one has to say.

That was when _it_ happened.

_My, my, what a fucking surprise._

The voice. _His_ voice, finding its way in her head…again.

_No_. 'B' bit her teeth together, her Viviers thudding with an intensity that matched her determination to blur _him_ out. 'I'm just imagining things', she told herself, like a chant that could exorcise. There was no way he could have—

The French doors that lead to the porch burst open. 'B' stepped out, and knowing that she was now protected by a secure cocoon of privacy, expelled an acid cloud of breath that she didn't now she was holding. Her hands felt clammy, that when an icy draft blew it rippled violently into her core, shocking her to agitation. _No please_. She begged mentally as she squeezed her eyes close. Clenching her fists (as begging was something she detested with a passion), she willed fervently to be scoured off of _him_.

_Please_. Again, for good measure. One last time, before she opens her eyes to the fruits of her pleas.

She heard Edith Piaf moaning 'La Vie en Rose' from the party inside.

Warm. She suddenly felt warm and it made her smile. Opening her eyes, 'B' found herself calming down, this newfound warmth enveloping her ever so sweetly. She saw New York City in front of her—her bright lights in the velvet night—and she never felt so free, so serene, like she was soaring up into the skies.

"I finally found you."

But every dream must end.

The warmth morphed into a pair of strong arms, muscled and possessive, tightening around her from the back as if branding her. 'B' knew she must resist, her mind screamed to be released, but it was deliciously warm, so hot, like sin becoming flesh.

She sighed. A ragged, difficult sigh.

He chuckled, his breath licking her ear, "I see you remember me."

"You monster."

"Highest of compliments."

"I hate you."

Edith was singing her life with just too much bravado.

"Awwwww, _Waldorf_."

Believe it or not, she came with the mention of her name.


	2. Chapter One: La Vie en Rose

Devil's Playground  
>By La Fata Aurora<p>

* * *

><p>Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter One: La Vie en Rose<strong>

Blair Cornelia Waldorf stiffened. In her wildest dreams she has replayed this scene. Part hopeful, part dreading, but altogether at peace with the reality that he could never pull off his parting words that night in Victrola:

_A wager, Beautiful. I find you, and you're at my disposal._

Maybe she wanted to be found. Maybe she wanted him—this unnamed, enigmatic creature of the night—to find her and ravage her and be at his disposal. But nay, that meant several things for Miss Society Belle-cum-the Perfect Flower. And of course, the choice was clear; she would not sacrifice anything for their little…_ummm_…'dalliance'.

"How did you know my name?"

She felt his breath draw closer to the tip of her ear. He was smiling, she could tell.

"I have my ways."

Blair made a scoffing sound. His brevity didn't satisfy her, and for that, she wanted to irritate him in the only way she knew how.

"You must have spent a lot of money to find me," She also wanted to dig deeper. She didn't exactly know this man, "Amsterdam and New York aren't necessarily within walking distance…"

But the response was otherwise. Did she miscalculate? Because he chuckled at her. The next thing she knew his lips was searing her neck, and his fingers—although long and thick—were ruthlessly seducing the straps of her Valentino ever so lightly.

"Ah—!" Blair stopped mid-moan, pushing him away as forcefully as she can, which was not much. Her eyes flew sideways into the revelry inside, and she knew that she should go back now, or lest be found in such a compromising situation with a man she didn't even know by name.

"Impatient, aren't we, my sweet? You know how I love it when you talk dirty." And he pressed the raging evidence down her back. "I came to collect, _Blair_."

"I don't even know your name."

"You can call me _Nathaniel_ if you like."

"That's just low."

He was chuckling again, "But you liked it the last time, didn't you?"

"You're despicable!" Blair loudly exclaimed. She belatedly saw the mistake in that and covered her mouth. They can't be caught. She has a reputation to uphold goddammit!

She turned to check at the doors and that's when he finally understood. All the dossiers in the world couldn't have given him this other piece of the puzzle, and now that he found it, who's to tell what he's gonna do with _it_?

…that Blair Cornelia Waldorf has a weakness?

"Charles Bartholomew Bass." The 'Devil' spoke after quite sometime.

"What?" Blair looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"My name."

"Oh." Her pretty lips rounded into an 'O'. It reminded him of the many ways he taught her how to use them.

"Now show me your room before anybody sees us."

Chuck knew that it was long shot, but this is Blair Waldorf, and Blair Waldorf always surprised him.

She didn't disappoint.

"Okay. Hurry." And they disappeared in the shadows.

* * *

><p>Serena looked over the sea of faces before her and frowned when she failed to spot the one that she's been searching for. Downing the rest of her Dom Perignon, she left the glass onto God-knows-where to go to the powder room, but decided against it, opting to take a breather in her upstairs room instead.<p>

Reaching down to collect her skirts, Serena found herself smiling as she walked up the stairs, reminded of her friendship with Blair and the many nights they shared in this house with Dorota. It was one Hell of a ride, indeed…the two of them. Blerena. 'S' and 'B'. They were there for each other when good times turned bad, getting over two parent divorces and Harold's subsequent desertion together.

Stepping on the quieter landing of the second floor, Serena looked back, trying not to look derisive at the partygoers downstairs. The Upper East Side, as far as she was concerned, was truly a world of its own. Secrets abound. Lies sky high. Everyone tries to survive, armored with greens, couture, Cubans and Rolls Royces.

She'd look for Blair after her nap. And with this plan, Serena turned around, taking off her Dior pumps as she padded her way across the carpeted hall. This time, she'd ask her about Amsterdam, and Nate, and what the Hell has been going on because Archibald hasn't been picking up his phone either. Sensing an upcoming onslaught for later, Serena silenced her mind like how Smithi, their yoga instructor, taught them how to. She opened her door when it came into view, pushing pass the portal just to drop her stilettos on the floor and herself over the bed.

"CHUCK!"

Serena's head shot up. _Chuck?_ She looked around the empty room.

But there was no mistaking…

"B?" the blonde croaked. Leaping off the bed, Serena opened her connecting door to the bathroom, just to close it behind her right after.

For some reason, their moaning just became louder.

"Oh, B…" Serena shook her head as she turned to her door to reach for her shoes. She walked quickly out of her room, getting back on her Diors when she reached the hall.

Their thumping echoed across the hallway.

Serena sighed.

"Oh, B…" she sadly whispered before walking away.

* * *

><p>"I'm not who you think I am." Chuck stretched right beside her on the bed, his eyes zoning on the dark ceiling and the shadows that occasionally flashed over the surface. It only meant one thing: the party is still in full swing downstairs.<p>

"I know." Blair pulled up the covers to her chest, sitting a good distance from him at the other side of the bed. Her eyes were on the door to her boudoir, but her peripheral vision can sense his nakedness. "Contrary to the stereotype, I actually read the Wall Street Journal _and_ the Economist."

"Is that why you decided to bring me to your room?"

"You sound hopeful." Blair planted her feet to the floor and began rummaging the heap that was her clothes. "Don't tell me you feel butterflies for me."

Chuck didn't say anything.

Blair didn't push him.

"So this Archibald, what of him now?"

"I've already told you. He's none of your business, Chuck."

"On the contrary, he is my business _now_."

Blair swung around and shot daggers at him, "May I remind you that THIS—" she gestured at him and herself as if they were some epidemic that should be squelched, "is _not_ a relationship."

"Oh, Blair, Blair, Blair. Who said anything about _you_?" Chuck smirked, loving how she fumed in realization. "Nathaniel happens to hold the lease of an asset that I wish to acquire…and since—" his eyes zeroed on her crotch, "you see how this complicates things, right?"

A fluffy pillow flew and hit him square on the face.

"I HATE YOU!"

Chuck pulled the pillow from his face and laughed, "Ooh, you don't mean that." He stood from the bed, and in all naked glory rounded the bed with purpose. He saw Blair take a step back, and taking this to his advantage, he pulled her by the arm.

"You see, Sweetheart…" He gently twirled her around, that now her back faced him, and in a state of half-dressed fit perfectly in his frame, "There is a thin line between Love and Hate…"

He pressed her closer, raising his hand to tip her chin, guiding her to stare at large mirror of her vanity.

"You wish." She replied stubbornly, glaring at his reflection.

"Shhh."

"Chuck, let me go."

"Make me."

"You're not being fair!" She hissed, her voice losing its edge as his lips hovered closer and closer to her skin, "I really hate you now."

"Tsk. Tsk. You're using _that_ word again." Chuck darted his tongue to trace the delicate line of her neck, pausing at her shoulder blade just how she likes it, "I think a demonstration is in order."

"WHA-?" and Blair moaned when his fingers slipped into her folds.

"See?" Chuck whispered thickly, moving his fingers in and out of her core, "Look how beautiful you are when you're with me."

"Chuck—" Blair felt her throat close up. She was staring down at herself and his fingers, the sight making her go hot and sticky, her skin flushing a milky pink, "I—"

"Look." Chuck urged her to look at the mirror, and when she obeyed, he brought his mouth to her neck and cherished her, "You don't hate me, Blair."

Blair bit her lower lip. This is madness. Debauchery. And she loved it.

Chuck entered her from behind.

He was right.

She didn't hate him at all.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Indeed, there is a thin line between love and hate. But that is not to say that I hate you guys! In fact, I'm really grateful for the reviews! Please do tell me if the fic is becoming vague, or becoming too dark. As you can probably tell by now, this fic is quasi-psychological, so leave me a note if it makes you think 'EHHH?' all the way.

A special thanks to the following readers: _zero2hero_,_ notoutforawalk_,_ Gem15stone_, _lookinforlove _and_ Aliennut_. I really appreciate you guys taking some time to share your thoughts with me!

XOXO,  
>-<strong><em>LFA<em>**-


	3. Chapter Two: Caelum et Infernum, PART 1

Devil's Playground  
>By La Fata Aurora<p>

* * *

><p>Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two: Caelum et Infernum (Part One)<strong>

_**Amsterdam, Netherlands. Two months ago.**_

_You…_

Blair looked up to the red neon sign with awe.

…_are too good for me._

And she flinched, Nate Archibald's words twisting her gut until she couldn't breathe. It has only been a few hours ago, but the throbbing that it caused felt like it has been there forever. This numbing pain, it was as if it was merely resurrected; bitter familiarity sang in her veins as their latest encounter replayed in her mind for the umpteenth time:

_I'm sorry._

_I'm sorry, Blair._

_Please understand._

_You…you are too good for me._

Funny thing—a distinction of sorts: she was more than enough _this_ time.

"Fuck you." Our Princess seethed, biting out harshly into the quiet night. She looked down and glared at the cobblestone path that led into the entrance. It was only a short four feet walk. It couldn't be that hard.

"M-miss Blair?"

Vanya approached, his nervous hands playing with his soft driver hat. Blair immediately sensed his hesitation, and the master manipulator in her quickly regrouped. He finally found the guts to cross her, she thought, admiring the driver's good intentions no matter how late it was at this point.

Blair mentally took a deep breath...before channeling the sweet, sweet angel that everybody in God-freaking-Manhattan knew.

"Vanya, you can leave now."

The Russian stared at her in horror. "B-but Miss B-blair!" He gave the establishment an uneasy look, "This place—"

"Yes?" She blinked innocently, expectantly, sugared smile intact. She was really in no mood to play the 'Darling Princess', but she's so used to it, it played out in autopilot. "Tell me Vanya, have you been to such place before?"

"NO!"

"Then leave me alone."

The Russian sounded like he choked on something. It was definitely something Blair wouldn't say in effect, especially to a member of the gossipy help. But then again she was in no mood for such frivolities, that she left the driver standing alone by the limousine.

_I'll show **you**. I'll show **everyone** who I truly am!_

VICTROLA.

"Welcome."

Blair was in the middle of making a dramatic entrance when a tall, lithe man with laughing green eyes greeted her. He was impeccably dressed for the Receptions, with a fedora to boot, but his look of admiration was one for her exemplary choice of attire tonight (Vivienne Westwood and Christian Louboutin), signaling his preference to play in the same side of the fence as she is.

"I'd like to know my choices."

"Julius, Madame." The host introduced himself, a smile of approval glowing in his face. "And as Victrola only wishes to satisfy all of your fantasies, we can offer everything. _Anything_."

His green eyes gleamed so much, that for a second, Blair thought that this was a bad idea.

"I see…" Blair pretended to give it a thought. Of course she has to appear like she'd done this before, _many times before_ in fact, if you ask the perfectionist in her. "Anything, huh?"

Julius nodded confidently.

"I guess I just have to take your word on that."

"Excellent!" Julius stepped away from his post, whipping out a mask. He presented it to Blair, who looked at it suspiciously. "For anonymity."

Blair twitched her lips together, "Do I have to?"

"Not if you don't want to."

The urge to experience the adventure in its fullest was too strong. Blair decided to play along, pushing the ivory colored mask to her nose and tying its silk straps around her head. The host approved of her decision.

_I'll show you_. It was her chant. Her structuring mantra.

"This way please, Madame."

* * *

><p>"Mister Bass!"<p>

Chuck looked up from the comfort of his settee only to find the overly eager eyes of Johann Zac. The urge to sigh was suddenly overwhelming. The boy was such a pleaser.

"Yes?" He flicked his Cuban, blowing a nonchalant puff.

"I think we have a VIP tonight."

"Johann," Chuck reminded himself that patience was a virtue. Plus, Johann was only fifteen. Of course he didn't understand many things. "We always have people purchasing the VIP experience every night."

"Oh I know that! But this one's a lady."

Heard that before.

"She's pretty young."

Socialite. Daddy issues.

"American."

Not surprised.

"She's reeeally pretty."

Chuck gave him a piercing stare, "I'm not throwing you into '_the Pool_' if that's what you're thinking."

Johann wilted, Chuck's assessment clearly on point, "But _you_ do it all the time!"

"That's because I'm Chuck Bass."

"How come I never get into '_the Pool_'?" the teenager whined.

"Because you're _ten_ and your mother is going to kill me if I do." Chuck waved him away, resting his back deeper into the sofa. "Ugh."

Johann rolled his eyes, "Fine. I know when I'm not needed." And he noisily stomped away. See? Still a kid.

Chuck took another puff of his smoke.

_Pop._

He looked down just to see Ava pulling her face from his crotch.

"You're awfully hard at him." She remarked, stroking his length. Chuck arched a brow, and she quickly relented, "I'm just saying."

"Just do your job."

Ava sighed, then proceeded back to sucking him again.

* * *

><p>There is <em>definitely<em> a stereotype in Amsterdam.

Blair gingerly sipped her Vodka Cranberry and tried to grin as best as she can. Julius has been accommodating enough to remain at her side as she selected from '_the Pool_', but for some odd reason, the selection of gorgeous men _and_ women (though outstanding if the circumstances were different) didn't tickle any of her fancy. In the merry world of Victrola, _the Pool_ is a common hall where all the escorts are abound. A dimly lighted expanse of shadows and laughter, of black lace, musk, cigar smoke and champagne glasses; anybody not sitting on a settee and wearing a mask is up for grabs. It is the most 'innocent' of places, where there is cabaret up the stage, colorful cocktails being passed around and coy glances to share. It was most certainly an experience to undergo, and the art lover inside of Blair just adored the Gothic beauty that it represented.

Except for the stereotype, that is.

"See anything you like, Honey?" Julius stood beside her couch. Regal as a queen, Blair surveyed the selection again and sighed.

"Is it just me…or do they all look harmless?"

Julius laughed heartily at response, "So I see that you're, what we call, a 'rough rider'?"

Blair shrugged, not giving anything away, "But I quite like that."

"What about a type?" Julius prodded her, "I'm sure that if you give me a 'type' I could find a few prospective playmates for you."

Blair didn't have to think twice. She simply had to think of Nate…and everything that's opposite of him.

"Dark hair. Dark eyes."

"Tempted by the dark side, aren't we?"

Blair sipped her drink, letting her back rest over the soft pillows of the couch, "And stubble. I like a little stubble."

Just because Nate _never_ lets himself have a stubble.

"You go, Baby Vamp!" Julius cheered excitedly.

"And…" Blair blinked, her eyes far away, "I want him to be unapologetic."

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Blair._

"Mmm-mmm."

"And dangerous."

"Rawr!"

"Yet sophisticated."

"Ooh!"

"Mysterious."

"It's getting hot in here!"

"Just like him."

Julius suddenly stopped, watching as Blair lifted a well-manicured finger.

"I want _him_." She said with absolute conviction that Julius had to blink twice before he actually glanced at the object of her fancy.

Which was when he paled.

"Oh, Sweetie—"

Blair saw the hesitation in his face so much that it sparked her interest even more, "Is there a problem?"

Julius was immediately in the business of shaking his head, "Oh no, of course not! It's just that—"

"Then it's settled." Blair stood up and forced her now empty glass into Julius' hands. The host began saying something that resembled an explanation, but Blair was too much consumed by the fact that she'd found her 'conspirator' to even listen to something so insignificant.

_I'm doing it! _Her mind screamed, with glee or horror, she wasn't quite sure. Maybe it was in between. All she was beginning to find for sure was this feeling of serenity tinged with righteousness tingling magically in her bones. With all the right mind she would be shying away from this insanity, yet she is not.

The implication of danger…of darkness…was intoxicating.

_I'll show you, Nate Archibald. I'll show you **and** everyone who I truly am!_

With her Louboutins, she strutted. The path to him wasn't long, but in the guise of fragrant smoke, it was as if she was being transported to another world far removed: A world where Blair Waldorf was real, where Blair Waldorf was free, where the real Blair Waldorf mattered. Of course, he noticed her right away. No one misses Blair Waldorf. And his lips, once hard and stoic, widened into an appreciative smile.

Onyx eyes to chocolate eyes—a connection that is for the ages.

Inevitable.

"Hey."

"Hey there." His voice was deep, silken.

Intoxicating.

"I was told that I can't have you."

"Is that so? What a shame."

"A pity."

"A pity, indeed."

"Do you agree then?"

Blair felt his eyes slash a hot perusal over her body that she held her breath.

"I am a man of my own mind."

"Which is to say?"

"No." the word rolled off sensuously. "I don't agree."

Blair almost sighed which she hid behind a reward of a grin. A grin like the Cheshire Cat's. Then she turned about, her eyes not leaving him.

"Come along now."

He arched a brow. Obviously, this one doesn't take orders. Perfect.

"If you're lucky, I might even show you my underwear."

He thought for a moment.

"Lace?"

Blair sighed in sham disappointment, "I thought you could tell. I _must have_ over-estimated you."

And then she walked away, making sure that she stayed under the light, so that he could see her silhouette…

His smirk grew even wider, if that's even possible, because that's when he realized that she wasn't wearing _any_.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: As you all can probably tell, this is PART ONE of Blair's mysterious adventure in Amsterdam. Obviously, she meets our Mr. Bass in here, and hopefully, it gave you an insight to the mess that is brewing in present time. Allusions are abound, my Sweets! Hopefully I dropped them in the right places! . Please R&R! I would love to hear what you've got to say!

And a special thanks to my reviewers! I swear that time and time again your insights provide me with a wealth of ideas! Thank you!

XOXO,  
>-<em><strong>LFA<strong>_-


	4. Chapter Three: China Doll

Devil's Playground  
>By La Fata Aurora<p>

* * *

><p>Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three: China Doll<strong>

_**Present Time, the Morning After**_

When Chuck Bass was fifteen, everything was different from how it is right now. Newly orphaned and with no one to turn to, he didn't have much of anything. He didn't know Bart back then, and was unaware of his existence until the older Bass found him three years later.

The world was cold, cruel and unrelenting for young Charles during those times, and he was often seen alone, wandering the slums of Amsterdam with only the clothes on his back to protect him from the elements. However, one cannot particularly say that those times were for naught, as these same lessons of the streets made him the man that he is today. He might not have finished highschool, or perfected his own form for polo, but those never became impediments for him to flawlessly take over the helm of Bass Royale, six years later.

And there was also another time, when the streets of Amsterdam afforded him yet another gift that was key to his Fate many years later. On this one particular occasion, he chanced upon a pawnshop with an extravagant store front, complete with tinsel, velour and pillows that helped present their most delicate wares. In the middle of this supposed quasi-elegance, surrounded by candleholders, imitations pearls and silk flowers, was a China doll. She stood regally that one could immediately tell that she was once a precious possession, with a thick mane of shiny hair that framed a face so fair it reminded Chuck of those marble angels in the church by Main Street. The doll also sported a pair of wide, doe-like eyes, a small delicate nose and a cherry mouth. She was dressed quite sumptuously too, with jeweled beads sewn by gold thread that ornamented piles and piles of shiny velvet and muslin. Clearly, the doll was appointed the star of the display window, the queen of the microcosm, yet what drew young Charles to her was none of these attractions. Instead, he thought she was suffocating—small and insignificant in that fatuous excuse of a dress, drowning, like she could very much disappear into those yards of cloth without anyone noticing.

But he noticed.

Like he noticed Blair.

In the vagueness of the dawn, Chuck found the bedside clock and decided that it was time to go. He had become a busy man seven years ago, when Bart finally found the bastard son that one of his many dalliances has conceived, and as the older Bass was never married, turned Chuck into a younger replica of himself. Since then, Chuck was out of the streets and tossed into the boardrooms, clocking hours that initially rivaled his father's, and eventually made the old man proud. Chuck didn't have much of a choice anyway; angry as he was at the thought of being controlled, he was also exhausted and tired of being hungry, and Bart was making it virtually impossible for him to survive outside Bass Industries.

"Chuck."

He was already halfway dressed and halfway to the door when he stopped. In the darkness he could hear her breathe, and he was pretty certain that that other sound in the background was her mind clicking.

He waited.

"We…" she began after a lengthy pause, "We can't be seen together."

"I am aware of that." Chuck shrugged into his suit.

Another lengthy pause.

"I…I am in love with Nate."

Chuck felt his jaw tighten, but like he always does, he said nothing of it.

"You have to understand this. Nate and I…we've been together forever. We have a connection that cannot be replaced—"

She paused, as if searching for the most appropriate term.

"We're inevitable."

Chuck couldn't help but laugh.

"You were angry, and now it has passed. I get it Waldorf, but _that_ isn't _my_ problem."

Blair stiffened, "You selfish—"

"Good day, Blair." Chuck opened the door and stepped out, but before he completely disappeared into the darkness, he turned back just to see her sitting on the bed, her thick mane of hair shiny, her wide, doe-like eyes sparking with rage. He has never seen anyone so beautiful in his entire life. "I'll see you later."

"Don't count on it!" Angry, her cherry lips drew a cruel line as she shouted.

Her door was closed with a thud.

* * *

><p><em><strong>8:23 am, The Waldorf Astoria (Peacock Alley)<strong>_

"S, what's wrong?"

"Huh, what?"

Eric van der Woodsen stared at his sister blankly, kind, worried eyes flying from Serena's face to the IPhone on the table and then back. Breakfast in the Peacock Alley has always been one of the highlights of their week, a tradition that the siblings made in an effort to stay connected with each other's lives.

"You've been staring at your phone for quite some time now," Eric reached for his coffee, watching his sister closely when the blonde finally realized that whatever's in her mind was showing on her face, "Is there somewhere that you need to be?"

Serena was quick to shake her head, "No, E! I'm sorry." She took a sharp breath, reaching over for her fork, "It's just that I'm worried about Blair. Ever since Amsterdam…"

The blonde didn't say more, glossing over her plate as if she didn't know where to begin.

"S," Eric brought his coffee cup down, reaching over to place a hand over his sister's, "why don't you tell me? It always helps, as far as I can recall."

And to this, Serena gave a grateful smile, "Yes, it does." She bit her lip, giving her phone a cursory glance before looking at Eric again.

"Blair ran away two months ago."

Eric knew the gravity of this revelation, as Blair being Manhattan's 'Little Miss Perfect' does not entail that she do something as brash as the 'running away cliché'.

"Go on."

"Nobody knows about it, just Dorota, me, Nate, and now you. " Serena raked her locks out of her face like she always does when she's in deep thought. "Dorota and I made it appear that she's gone to do some research for Anne's foundation, although we don't exactly know what she did over there on her own."

Eric seemed unflustered, so Serena tried again, "Three weeks of no contact, Eric! Three weeks! And when she came back, she's this cold, distant zombie!"

Eric raised a brow, not seeing the point in this at all, "Would it be possible that we're thinking too much about this? I mean, besides the 'running away' part, S, I don't see any reason why we should worry about Blair. I mean, Blair is Blair—she wouldn't do anything wrong. Besides, virtually every kid in the Upper East Side has ran away, or has thought of doing it. And with regards to the zombie part…maybe Blair Waldorf is finally catching up on her '_down_ days'."

Serena firmly shook her head, "E, you don't understand. _Blair Waldorf_ doesn't run away. There must be a good reason behind this, something that she felt so strongly about and I'm worried because she's not telling me anything! Plus, think about it, why _now_? Why run away when Nate is preparing to propose to her?" She paused just to see Eric's eyes widen, "Eric?"

Eric suddenly withdrew his hands away, a palm sneaking up and covering his mouth that completed his look of surprise, "S, you don't say—?"

"I don't say, what?"

Eric now looked uncomfortable. Shifting in his posh seat, he inconspicuously scanned the lounge before turning his full attention back to his sister, "You _don't_ know?"

"I _don't_ know _what_?" Serena almost spat.

"S, there's been rumors. Several of them actually…" Eric slowly began, gauging the emotions on his sister's face. Then he lowered his voice into a whisper, "I've heard from a few people that Archibald is having second thoughts."

Serena's mouth dropped open, whispering back, "That can't be true!"

"I don't know anymore, S. Like you, I've grown up with B and Nate, and for that, I, more than most people, would know that they are destined together. I was surprised myself when these rumors reached me, but considering that they've _never_ slept together—"

"Wait, WHAT?" Serena was now beyond astonished, "Where did you hear about that? That is private stuff goddamit!"

"So you knew?"

"About what?"

"That Blair Waldorf has been putting off sex and is still a virgin at twenty-four?"

Serena's eyes widened like Eric just hit her, the fork that she'd been holding on for dear life slipping from her hand.

"SHIT."

Eric saw a play of uncanny emotions run wildly on her face, which ended with her saying a one, big, "Fuck."

"S—?"

"OHMIGOD." Serena mumbled when finally managed to breathe. She looked anxious and terrified, like the earth underneath their luxurious table setting was threatening to swallow her whole. Eric was now more confused than ever, examining his sister for telltale signs that might actually make sense.

"Serena?" Eric waved a hand in front of her face, "Hey! You are definitely scaring me right now!"

"Ohmigod, E." Serena shook, some pieces of the puzzle hitting her at last. She reached across the table for Eric's arm, hoping that it was enough support for the next things that she's about to say, "Blair is _not_ a virgin."

"Good. Then Nate has been doing his job then—"

Eric was about to give out a sigh of relief, but quickly withdrew, seeing the ghostly look on Serena's face, "Why do I sense that I shouldn't be feeling better about that statement?"

Serena shook her head, and the look on her face said that she was also trying to make sense of things.

"No, because just last night, I saw Blair having sex with somebody in the bathroom. And believe me when I say that that man _isn't_ Nate!"

Eric looked stricken, and it has nothing to do with the threat of his sister's hands blocking his arm's circulation.

"Oh Lord…We should definitely worry about Amsterdam, then." He murmured under his breath.

Serena couldn't agree more, her face falling into her hands, "Blair, what the Hell is going on?"

* * *

><p><em><strong>10:40 am, 3rd Ave East 46th Street (Vanderbilt Foundation for Girls Suites)<strong>_

"Blair?"

Blair looked up from the white Victorian desk in front of her and blinked. She doesn't exactly remember for how long she's been out of it, but judging based on Anne Archibald's assessing stare, it might have been a little longer than she would have liked.

"Hello, Anne."

Nate's mother stepped into her office without preamble, a blue folder in hand. She left it on top of her desk, "I've read your research—"

_Research?_

"…about the state of young girls in Amsterdam. Serena brought it over a few weeks ago after your return."

_Serena. Why can't she ever mind her own business!_

Blair was immediately in all smiles. It wasn't that hard.

"I see. What do you think about it?"

Anne began mumbling something about the correlation and its application to America's most pressing female rights issues. Blair has heard this speech before, considering that Anne Archibald the uptight conservative frequently recycled a lot of her views.

"In conclusion, _Dear_, I feel that the trip was unnecessary. We already have too much problems in the system locally, and I believe that such a global view would topple our focus on the more important issues."

_You could go to Hell._

"I'm sorry to hear that Anne. I'll definitely keep that in mind." Blair reached over to retrieve the folder that contained her supposed 'research paper'. "You may be right. Perhaps, I was unwisely taken by this article I've read from the Times. I apologize."

Blair made a show of dropping the folder straight to the wastebasket and relished the stunned look on Anne's face when it made a loud, resounding and quite inappropriate 'thud'. Blair was sweetly smiling all the time.

But of course, Anne knew how to elegantly recuperate in times like these. She was a Vanderbilt for Christ's sake.

"You don't need to apologize, Blair. You've been working in this foundation ever since highschool, that's why I know how passionate you are for the cause." She paused, for dramatic effect or otherwise, Blair would never know, "However, after you and Nathaniel get married, you will be President of this foundation. I just hope to train you well before that time comes, and in order to succeed in that, I would have to keep you focused on issues that _really_ matter."

"Yes, Anne. I really appreciate your concern."

"Good." Anne gave a nod of approval, sighing mildly. She briefly managed a smile, or some semblance of it, before turning back to the door.

"Oh and Blair, _darling_, Nathaniel is coming back from Albany tonight. Would you mind organizing a little intimate banquet for his return? I'm sure that he'd love that."

"Of course not, Anne. I would love to." Grabbing her Chanel Cambon organizer, Blair began to quickly jot down notes for the dinner, "How many place settings should I arrange for?"

"Just a few. Twenty perhaps?"

"Alright. Should we have it in the townhouse or would you rather I book it in the Plaza or the Waldorf—"

"Oh, the townhouse would be fine. Just like what I've said, we'd want this to be in an intimate setting. Nothing so grand, just something to welcome Nathaniel and his supporters."

Blair nodded, scribbling the words 'warm', 'elegant' and then 'election', in that order.

"And Blair, before I forget—"

Blair looked up, seeing Anne hovering by her door.

"You've been to Amsterdam lately, correct? Hopefully you've acculturated yourself enough for that will be a valuable asset tonight."

"Oh really?" Blair looked confused, "And why is that?"

"Nate has been courting hard to get into the good graces of this Hospitality Mogul who grew up in the Netherlands. You've probably heard about him, as he's a growing personality in the Wall Street these days."

Blair felt a sick slither crawl up her spine. She looked at Anne, hoping with all hopes that for once in her life, her suspicions were wrong.

And they were rarely wrong.

"Ah, I'm sorry Anne, I haven't been in touch with the _Journal_ these days…"

"Is that so? Very well…" that little look of disappointment in Anne's face wasn't lost to Blair, "I was pertaining to Charles Bass, of Bass Industries—"

Blair's fingers reflexively tightened around her pen.

"Really Blair, you have to catch up on this. Nathaniel needs his connections for the Primaries, and as his future wife, you are expected to know that the Republican—"

_Damn that Motherchucker!_

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: And the plot thickens. _Whew_! To be honest, I had a little trouble writing this chappie, as I didn't want to reveal as much, before we get to Part Two of Blair's Amsterdam Adventure. To make sure that we're all on the same page, I'd like to comment on some concerns that were brought to my attention:  
>1. Chuck and Blair's Ages (<em>lookinforlove<em>): twenty-five and twenty-four, respectively  
>2. Hot sex isn't overrated (<em>notoutforawalk<em>): Of course, Darling. That's why we're all here :D  
>3. Only getting hotter (<em>aliceeeebeth<em>): I'm sure you'd love the next chapter. I swear! *hint*hint*  
>4. Chuck being dangerous and mysterious (<em>Manoella Nascimento<em>): That's our Mister Bass for you!

The next chapter is still up for some polishing but, as it follows, it would be Part Two of Amsterdam. I would really like to hear your views regarding this chapter as they are interconnected, so I know where everyone stands up to this point.

Thanks for all the love!

XOXO,  
>-<strong><em>LFA<em>**-


	5. Chapter Four: Caelum et Infernum, PART 2

Devil's Playground  
>By La Fata Aurora<p>

* * *

><p>Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four: Caelum et Infernum (Part Two)<strong>

_**Amsterdam, Netherlands. Two months ago.**_

An eye for an eye.

"What's your name?"

Primitive, yes. Blair Waldorf is doing Hammurabi proud.

"No names." Blair's breath sagged, and she sighed, feeling his eyes draw liquid flames all over her body. Her pulse began to race faster, and that was _before_ his light touch pushed her sweetheart neckline down.

Her black Westwood slid delectably along her skin, turning into a puddle around her feet. She leaned back, her breath caught in her chest, as a small sound of thrill squeezed out of her throat.

He bent over to have a taste.

_I am letting a stranger touch me. _Blair thought.

His eyes were locked with hers, observing, observing, knowing exactly how he is making her feel.

_I am letting a stranger see me in places that only Nate should see…_

Slowly, achingly, his lips finally grazed her taut nipples. He sucked her sweetly, gently, painfully rhythmical that Blair almost wept.

_Oh my God…_

"Raise your arms to the wall." He coaxed, like chanting a magic spell. His large hands guided her wrists to the wall behind her, and they pinned her tightly, the pressure a sudden contrast to his sweetness that Blair looked up to her hands curiously.

It was bait, of course, because now that her neck was exposed, he took advantage of the ripe opening and burned the delicate length with his tongue.

_Ahh…What sweet surprise..._Blair buckled, her eyes rolling to the back of her head. Her center twitched for him and she smiled a harlot's smile, savoring the drug-like trance and the sensation of his hot breath licking her sensuously.

_This is not how it's supposed to be, yet—_

"Take your mask off…"

"No."

His knee came wedging in between her legs. A punishment, most likely, as Blair wasn't wearing any underwear. The fabric of his trousers brushed wickedly with her folds and Blair almost yelped, the contact so sudden and evil, too early at this point of their foreplay.

"Take it off, I want to see your face…"

It was a command; a command veiled by his silken voice that it almost seemed a desperate request for her. Blair felt the roughness of the wall behind her as he pressed closer, bending down to sample her again.

"I want to see your face…" He suckled her, and then kneaded her, pushing her to her brink that it was making her go crazy, "I want to know how you look like when you _cum_ for me."

_Oh Lord._

"You're being vulgar..." Blair swallowed hard and managed to reach down for his hair, pulling him to her face for a kiss. He responded obediently by devouring her, shaping her, and she soared. His tongue came next, expertly probing her until she was lost.

_Hah…_

Without losing her lips, Chuck decided to push the playing field up a higher level. Grabbing her behind the knees, he hoisted her up to his hips, masterfully wrapping her legs around his waist. As he was fully clothed as she was naked, they both moaned upon contact, the torment of her nakedness to his arousal wracking their systems. Blair shivered, unconsciously sliding up his length that her nails clawed his back. He was emanating heat from underneath, and his hardness, seducing her entrance.

The journey to the adjacent bed was wrought with Chuck's clothes ripping and flying off, that the moment Blair's back hit the bed, her hands were shaking like they were possessed, hungry for action. She didn't exactly know what she was doing; all she did was reach for him in places that she wanted—his thick musky hair, his attentive lips, his wide chest—and she sighed when he sighed, a mirror of his emotions for suddenly she realized that what he liked, she liked, and the satisfaction of dominating him, thrilled her to pieces.

And didn't that just turn Chuck into a generous, generous man?

"Open your legs." And when Blair asked him why, he gave her the dirtiest reason why.

But in the end, Blair didn't mind, because his fingers and tongue were skillful enough to force an amnesty out of her.

"Oh, Beautiful, you like this don't you?" Chuck saw her face flush at the sight of his fingers inside her, smirking at how her body arched closer to his palm. He watched her bite her ruby red lips as she strained for control, and he hated her mask right there and then, the obstruction blocking him from fully enjoying the visual of his efforts. He drew his fingers back, licking the sweet coating before he lapped her with his tongue. She moaned musically for him. He knew that she was very close to her peak, but still he pushed her; he wanted her quivering and mad for him when he enters her.

_Too much…I can't be enjoying this, this much… _

Blair fought to open her eyes from forces of her desires. Her initial plan didn't involve such delicious sacrifice, but right now it was a beautiful consolation, and she chose not to think rationally, focusing only on the heat and the joys of their bodies. She closed up her mind from anything else, convincing herself that she could actually come out of this sated and unscathed; a perfect outcome borne out of a perfect plan, which she can luxuriate in for the rest of her life…

"Let me."

Chuck ascended from her warmth when she gently pushed him away to assert control. He licked his lips as he watched her porcelain skin tantalize him while she moved, straddling him between the legs, rubbing her sopping wetness to his boxers. Chuck let himself fall back, glancing up to this glowing goddess now holding him in the palm of her little hand. There was a quality in her that he could not understand, a purpose that he couldn't read. She was a genius in shuttering her core that threw Chuck into uncharted territory, and he was humbled by that, like a champion meeting his match, full of respect, yet not in at least conceding.

He'd dance to her tune, for now.

_This is it._

Blair felt her heart thunder as she took over the reigns, straddling him. He still had his boxers on, and from her point of view, she saw before her a scene that was bitterly unfamiliar—of a man looking at her with undiluted lust; a lust that was the culmination of her own uninhibited actions, without the control of any suffocating rule. A lump formed inside her throat and she struggled with it, forcing herself to retract back into the shadows—She doesn't need to feel this now. In front of her was an illusion of full acceptance; of course _this_ man would accept her…for Christ's sake, she's paying him to do it!

_What has become of me? _Blair suddenly felt tears scorching the backs of her eyes. She saw the beautiful man before her and she caught her breath, bracing herself for the climax.

_A lonely child, titillated by mere scrapes of warmth from another…_

_Dammit!_

Angrily, Blair yanked his boxers away, and without a moment's hesitation, plunged herself into his hardness.

She cried out like a Siren on top of him. And Chuck, he almost died.

"Holy Mother—" Chuck furrowed his forehead to regain composure but his head fell back, feeling her squirm on top of him as she attempted to create their pace. She was unusually tight, and she was squeezing him so heavenly with a pressure he'd never felt before. He was left holding on to the sheets, accepting her accept him, guiding her to receive him fully. He moved slightly to accommodate her but she stiffened, and when Chuck saw her discomfort he reached out to her hips. He hoped to assist her, so he held her by the waist, pushing himself in.

She writhed in pain.

_Something was wrong._

Her breathing became sharp and laborious. Chuck reached down to where they were connected, knowing how to ease her, and that's when he realized what was wrong.

There was blood.

Chuck looked up to her and finally saw the tears clouding her eyes.

"Shut up." She whispered brokenly when he tried to open his mouth. "I'm paying for this so all you have to do is quietly take it and do your fucking job."

Of course he didn't listen to her. "It's your first time?"

He couldn't believe it.

Blair ignored him and flinched as she received him more deeply, dodging his piercing eyes while she sheathed him whole. She felt him tense as she did, but the rest of his body was not as receptive as it was before.

"So what? It's not like it matters."

"Of course, it matters." He contradicted her softly.

Blair's eyes darted to his in surprise. With all the flashiness and rough edges, he was now speaking to her as if he cared.

"No it doesn't." Blair bit out forcefully, moving in a way that she knew would elicit a reaction from his body. She wanted to punish him for suddenly being kind. She wanted to hurt him because out of all times, he chose this point to become a principled man. She pushed deep and hard, before quickly pulling out, meaning to torture him. Chuck's breath became ragged; he was fighting her, she knew, but she wasn't going to let herself go through Hell alone. She's going to bring him with her, and together they would revel in this darkness that they've created together.

A telling vein on his temple throbbed, and it was all Blair needed to see.

She plunged harder on him that Chuck felt his control slowly give in, ripped piece by piece by her alabaster skin that glowed so seductively in front of his eyes. He hated her now. She was the vilest, craziest and most stubborn woman that he'd ever know. She thrust herself deeper to him and who in their right mind could resist? She was fucking him senselessly, and that in itself was endgame. He'd already lost, so what's the point of holding back?

"What's his name?"

"What?"

Chuck suddenly sat up and held her inside his arms. It created more traction for Blair, and she quivered slightly at the new kick of desire that clawed inside of her.

"Call him."

"What? No!"

Chuck wasn't to be subdued. She was already peaking, and he knew that he could make her do anything if he wanted to.

He jerked his hips into her, giving her a taste of his cooperation. She threw her head back in pleasure.

"Call his name." He prodded again, and she twitched—he doesn't have enough time.

He pushed inside her again, harder, "Dammit, call his name!"

"No, please—" Blair squeezed her eyes shut, flinging her arms around his neck as the unfulfilled pressure bubbling inside of her forced her to surrender. His intermittent pausing was killing her; the idea of a release so close yet so far was killing her. "No!"

But he was the one with street wiles. Chuck reached down and rubbed her clit, sending her to a spasm, blocking all senses that her much kept secret flew easily from her lips.

"Nathaniel!"

She gasped, Chuck pumping into her until she reached her oblivion. With Blair delighting in the stars, he snatched her mask off, working on his own euphoria, which didn't come long after.

_I'm sorry, Blair. Please understand. I love you, but sometimes, you make me feel so insignificant without even trying…_

Unchecked tears fell from Blair's eyes. She folded up, and was thankful that something warm caught her as she fell.

_You are so perfect in everything you do, that holding you is painful, because in the back of my mind, I know I've failed you…_

"Nate…" She sobbed loudly, her spirit ruptured, like a fallen angel who just sinned.

_I don't deserve you…_

Blair shook at this, reflexively burying her face deeper into the protective warmth.

_You are too good for me._

"Nate, how could you…How could you do this to me?"

* * *

><p>She pretends to sleep beside him, a foot of sheets separating them.<p>

Chuck knew.

He's awake, and he's not even pretending.

Blair knew.

The dawn was thick, sickening, deafening.

Yet not so.

Some say that this was the perfect time to sin, as everyone else is asleep: no prying eyes to judge, no self-righteous finger to point…

But they didn't make use of it. Chuck stood up, dressed himself, and left without another word. For hours after, Blair laid awake, rehashing her crime until her tears dried up, her heart clenched and hardened. Hollow. Solace was cold, and she wanted to be warm again, but the warmth was gone and it's never coming back…

She didn't even know his name.

How sad.

Paris. She'd go to her dad. Amsterdam was a foolish choice, even more foolish now because, of all people, _Whoregina_ got to her. Three years ago, the Sparks heiress spent her twenty-first birthday in Amsterdam with a bang, and even though Blair was invited, she couldn't go, being the 'Blair Waldorf' and all. _Victrola!_ Serena had gushed about it when she came back, all sparkly and worldly. And Blair, all she could do was become green eyed behind her usual chocolate brown, feigning indifference.

_Eww_. She remember saying.

Vanya drove much carefully on the way back. Like Dorota, the Russian was as close as she had for a family, and Blair was thankful, that no questions were asked. Not like she'd let him anyway. The cold managed to follow her, even back to her hotel suite. She picked up her phone to book for France—she's got to go. Amsterdam is like Kleenex; use once and throw away. That's that. Hours droned again, and all she could think of was the ceiling. It was white with intricate moldings. Ugh. She could see a bit of the chandelier by her right but she was too tired to move her eyes to confirm it—

Alright, she has to stop. It took five tries to get her up to bed, and when she did, she stumbled into the closet and grabbed whatever. What horror. If only her mother could see her now. Of course Eleanor would have something to say about her: Your hair, Blair. Or you're gaining weight, Blair. Or you're slouching again, Blair. Blair. Blair. Blair. She'd freak.

So our Princess does what she usually does best: Shop. Vanya drove her promptly to P.C. Hooftstraat and she lost herself to that magic world in her head. Cartier was still shimmering; Hermes, her safe spot; Chanel, still knowing her best. She came out of Louis Vuitton finally purchasing the horrendous patchwork bag just because _she can_. She browsed through several local designers and that's when an idea popped in her head—she dressed herself in jeans. Oh how plebeian.

Yet, she loved it. But of course, her top had to be Dolce and Gabbana.

And suddenly, when she looked up to the sky, it was already getting dark. Orange stripes were dissolving into gray, and as she stared into the close of another day, she was overcome with sadness, as once again, the ugly head of loneliness sprung out, resting heavily over her shoulder.

Blair looked at her watch.

She has five hours.

_**Tick-tock.**_

It was more than enough.

* * *

><p>It was still early for Victrola's usual carousing, so when Blair stepped into <em>the Pool<em>, the normative haziness was quite watered down, involving nothing but three customers, two of them alone yet already in the middle of a drinking game. Blair was shown to her seat, and a little while later, her favored drink was served.

Vodka Cranberry. She looked up in surprise, only to find Julius giving her a sad smile.

"He's not here." He whispered, heartbroken for her, and that's when Blair realized that she wasn't the first crazy woman to do this.

And Blair, being Manhattan's Princess, wasn't going to be caught dead looking this pitiful.

"Then get somebody else."

Julius wasn't convinced.

"Two of them." Blair shot him a dark look, challenging him. Of course, the host recanted. He was a mere host anyway.

"As you wish." He turned away, leaving Blair alone to deal with her mind.

_It doesn't have to be him_. She told herself. She can pay for any gorgeous guy (or guys) that suits her fancy, and he would look at her the same way, with the same light or even more. He would banter with her, make her shiver and then throw her on the wall, where he would attack her and have her wanting for him. His lips would drive her crazy, and she would pull on his hair, and he'd make her forget, forget the hurt, forget the rest of the world. All her loneliness would vanish, and she would feel the calm for as long as she can, immerse into it long enough to endure the flight to Paris.

_Yes. I'd do that._ Blair looked up as a faceless man approached her. She'd do just that.

* * *

><p>If Chuck has to think back, there were only a handful of times when he lost his cool. Three times, to be exact, and all of them were in various states of inebriation.<p>

So in some level, _this_ was a first.

What's more, it involved a woman. A crazy one, to boot.

He wasn't even supposed to be there. Victrola's place in his busy schedule only came once every two weeks, as he has other places to be, like Amsterdam's Empire for example, or the Clubhouse. Hotels don't run themselves: they need constant supervision and a focused eye that doesn't wander. Yet, Chuck wanders, and in the end, he found himself stepping into _the Pool_.

So just imagine his sublime rage when he found her canoodling with not just one, but two men in the middle of his own burlesque club.

"My, my, what a fucking surprise."

Crude, yet effective. Her eyes snapped open, and she looked up to him sheepishly from her settee as Boy Toy #1 plunged deeper into her neck.

Or at least he thought she looked sheepish for a second there.

"Well, well, well—" With her bitch face back, she pushed her escorts away, sporting a knowing beam, "I knew you'd turn up somehow."

Chuck glared at her, then at the two confused posers who looked like little Bambis caught in front of headlights.

"You shouldn't have come here."

It was meant to drive her away, away from him, but not meant to tatter her spirit as it did. He almost regretted his words.

"I had to."

And her escorts took this as a cue to disappear.

Chuck stared at her wordlessly, cautiously, watching her stand up.

"I'm going to leave for Paris tonight—" She whispered loud enough for him to hear, her hands behind her, her eyes softly opening and closing. Slowly, she rounded the low table that separated them, reaching out to him, "but before that, I need you to do something for me."

Her fingers fell on the side of his face, caressing him that Chuck stiffened at the delicious contact.

"And what would that be?"

She grinned, sensing her victory.

"I want you to look at my face the entire time you're fucking me."

_Shit_. Chuck's face suddenly registered a look of pain.

"What?" She giggled mockingly, moving closer to him. Her hand moved seductively from his face to his chest, her palm flirtatiously roaming over his chest, "Is it too much for you to handle?"

"Stop playing this game." Chuck warned her, and the little seductress rested her roaming hand over his belt. He almost hissed, "You have no idea what you're in for."

Her eyes flashed, "Then show me!" She forcefully yanked his belt away, "Show me!" She yelled, "Make me understand!"

Chuck's eyes darkened, and in the middle of Victrola or not, he grabbed the back of her head and kissed her hard.

It was hot and heavy, an explosion of the unexpected. Chuck licked her lips and she melted, turning pliant into his arms so fast that he wanted her more than ever. He wanted her last night, and again after he had her, and again after he left, and again right now, but this time it was different. Her lips opened to him on their own accord—without foolish plans, no hidden agendas. She was here, the real her, and he could feel it in the way she held on to him, moaning for him, receiving him.

They fell back on her settee, amidst the watchful eyes of a few bright faced and forgotten spectators. Julius, rarely flushed by Victrola's messes, now took it upon himself to throw everyone out of _the Pool_ whilst reddened ears.

"Show is over!" He muttered as he quickly ushered the drinking game party out. They were too drunk to fight him off, quite receptive actually, and the path to the exit was only interrupted by the sound of a cocktail glass breaking, his employer seemingly the culprit.

Some table crashed, but Julius considered himself too far away from the site to be even concerned.

Blair whimpered exquisitely when his lips sucked on her pink buds.

"Uhhh!" She sagged deeper into the settee, feeling his weight press on top of her. She forced her eyes open just to see him impatiently tug her jeans away, resting his palm on her mound so hot, covered only by a flimsy sheen of velvet.

"God, you're so beautiful." Chuck murmured, rubbing her sweetly. She bit her lower lip and he rewarded her with a kiss, distracting her from the subsequent onslaught of his fingers, entering her with her underwear still on.

"Oh my God, yes!" She arched closer to him.

Chuck ripped the rest of fabric and unbuttoned his trousers.

"Look here, Beautiful." Blair looked into his eyes searchingly. How he can make her feel this way, she doesn't understand. "You are only to look at me."

Blair nodded, and he sheathed himself with her.

"Oh no—" Her head fell back, his thrust deepening, "I—"

"Look at me."

Chuck entered fully and she screamed.

"You like that, huh? Up to the hilt—"

"Ohh yesss!" Blair swallowed as his thrusting gained momentum, and she looked away, her compounding desire taking over. "Oh no—too much!"

"Let it go, Beautiful." Chuck quickened his pace; her tightness gripping on him beautifully that perspiration began to film his forehead. "Let it go."

Blair groaned louder, deeper. Chuck pulled her up by the legs and he straightened up, standing, wrapping her legs around his waist.

"Hold on to me."

Blair encircled her arms around his neck obediently, and now that she was lifted higher, gazed down into his eyes, "What are you gonna do?" She managed to say.

"Something you'd come to like."

He thrust into her again and again while she was up in the air, and Blair moaned in pure pleasure, dominating and being serviced, the best of both worlds, all at the same time.

She came hard and wild, hers mixing with him, and she never felt so free in her entire life.

"Paris—" A little while later, Chuck paused to catch his breath, after he managed to resurface from complete satisfaction. He looked up to her, still raised in his arms. "What the hell is in Paris?"

Blair blinked as she exhaled sharply, the last throes of her release leaving her body.

"It doesn't matter."

Chuck gave her a confused look.

"Because I'm not going."

She dipped her head, captured his smiling lips, and restarted their craze all over again.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Let the sexathon begin! *_pops champagne_* Woo-hoo! Kiddos, you would not believe how surprised I am about my word count-3,976 words*gasp*-but CHAIR has to be done, and it has to be done _good_. I am thinking of doing a PART THREE of Amsterdam for the story's purposes (yes, there is a plot that I have to keep up with), so please sound off to that.

Please read and review! And like always, I appreciate my lovely reviewers! Cristal to all my darlings (I'm assuming that you're all of drinking age because you're reading _this_, if not, you get an apple cider :D).

XOXO,  
>-<strong><em>LFA<em>**-


	6. Chapter Five: Cul de Sac

Devil's Playground  
>By La Fata Aurora<p>

* * *

><p>Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five: Cul-de-sac<strong>

_**Present Time, 11:27 pm, The New York Palace **_

Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald.

If there was one man in New York City who would be a perfect match for Blair, it is he. Six feet tall, with shiny blonde hair and cerulean blue eyes, he was dubbed the '_White Prince of Gotham_' by Cosmopolitan Magazine for five consecutive years, until it lost to Vanity Fair's '_the Next John F. Kennedy_' in the basis of notoriety. Of course, it also didn't hurt that he had one of the city's most coveted lineages—'_Nate_' is the only child borne out of the marriage of Anne Vanderbilt and Howard Archibald, the former a daughter of the blue blood House of Vanderbilts, while the latter, the heir to the Archibald political dynasty. And as if those credentials were not enough, the boy was also gifted in Lacrosse, Polo _and_ Sailing, this triumvirate being his ticket to the halls of Dartmouth, where he graduated with satisfactory grades and the endearing moniker of 'Golden Boy' to the Big Green. Naturally, he was also incredibly kind, generous and down to Earth, qualities that even the help reiterated when they were interviewed for a supporting piece in Nate's debut for People Magazine.

So in short, Nathaniel Archibald is perfect.

Or so they say.

To say that he is conflicted at the moment is a bit of an understatement. In fact, as he stood inside the Palace's elevator with his dark blue Dior Homme showing a questionable amount of wrinkling, a sinister cloud adorned his golden head, and his ethereal eyes were squeezed shut, as if the mere soft glow of the elevator lights pained him. His back was slumped heavily on the wooden paneling, and he was breathing with so much effort, like the mere activity required thinking.

He reached out for his neck and flinched.

"Dammit." He mumbled, the fresh hickey still stinging. He has to find a way to cover it up for the dinner tonight. How he manages to get into more _shit_ when he's already in deep _shit_, the _fuck_ only knows.

_**Ting!**_

_Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…!_

_For Christ's sake—_

"Dammit, Serena!" He stepped out into the lobby with a clenched jaw, feeling his phone stubbornly vibrate for the millionth time. He ignored it and, as if to reinforce his resolve, decided to busy his hands by straightening his maddeningly disheveled appearance.

And for the love of God, that's how Charles Bass found him: With his hands in his pants.

"Archibald!"

Nate's golden head jerked sideways, so skittish that one might think he was caught with his hand inside the proverbial cookie jar. As Chuck was lounging at Istana, Nate found him comfortably occupying one of the tangerine chairs one flight down, and from his spot by the elevators, this was an easy task.

"Charles!" Nate's hand automatically flew over his neck, unconsciously rubbing the palm of his hand over his mark of infidelity. He continued to fix his clothes right after, that by the time he reached the foot of the stairs he was already decent. "I'm so glad to see you here in the City!" He took a quick look at the Victorinox watch that Blair gave him last Christmas, "Am I late for our meeting?"

"Relax." Chuck saw his discomfort and waved for the waiter. He ordered himself some Chivas Regal before turning to Nate for his drink. The blonde requested for some Bourbon.

"We were set for noon." Chuck continued. He sat back on his seat, and his omniscient eyes narrowed, "Did I manage to _distract you_ in any way?"

His lips quivered into a knowing smirk. Nate's face was suddenly stiff.

"Um. No. What exactly are you talking about?"

Chuck shook his head patiently, like a grown, understanding adult to an unruly child, "Please, Nathaniel. Let us not make this even more complicated than it already is."

Nate continued to stare at him wordlessly, not giving anything away, yet his hickey giving everything away. Their drinks arrived.

"If we are to be comrades, Nathaniel," Chuck tipped the waiter with a crisp fifty dollar bill, reaching for his drink when the server stepped away, "you have to learn to be honest with me."

He brought the Scotch into his lips, taking a sip. Nate watched as he savored the flavor and its distinct searing, his signature bedeviled smirk returning when he was done.

"And besides, I own this place…" Chuck made a mindless gesture with his hand, "which makes me know _everything_ about it."

Ball to Archibald's court. Nate knew from the very beginning that Charles Bass was like any other potential financier, but only in the sense that he wouldn't give up his millions that easily, especially for a maiden political campaign, Vanderbilt-Archibald or no Vanderbilt-Archibald. This wasn't the first time that Nate was faced with such scrutiny, so one can say that he was used to such blows, however, unlike most financiers, Charles didn't give a damn about his bloodline. From the moment his father and grandfather had the Dutch mogul in their sights, Nate knew that he was somebody to contend with, not only because he was such a success in his field for his age, but also because he had that quality around him—charming yet obdurate, courteous yet obscene. He was an unreadable man, an existence of contradictions, that for Nate he was something new, a force that he didn't know how to deal with _but have to_ reckon with.

Nate felt his jaw clench. He was left with no choice. Given that he doesn't know Chuck that well, letting him into such private matters might be an instant political suicide, however, on the flip side, it might just buy him Chuck's confidence…even his friendship.

"Nathaniel—" Chuck was looking at him expectantly when Nate interjected.

"Blair doesn't know about it." He began, his face still stony, but one could see that his face was acceding to what could only be agony, "I would very much appreciate if she _never_ finds out, _Bass_."

A glint of surprise crossed the Dutchman's eyes, more due to Nate's depreciation of his girlfriend's instincts, than his wish to conceal his infamy, "You really think that she is that _ignorant_?"

Nate looked away from him, grabbing his Bourbon. He stared at the deep caramel color and felt a hard lump form in his throat—Caramel…the color of Blair's eyes…a pair that he's known for so long, yet always eludes his grasps…

"You know, Chuck—" Nate looked up from his drink, sapphire blue eyes contrite and true, "I love Blair. She is the most wonderful presence in my life…"

He paused just to swallow the suffocating lump in his throat, and it made his eyes even clearer, without a hint of deceit, "I don't know why I do it—I…I just can't figure out how I even—"

"Her level of perfection is just surreal…" Chuck stated indifferently, and Nate, being interrupted with his jumbled thoughts, was left to blink in order to regain cognition. Chuck cleared his throat as he went on, "So surreal it needs to be violated."

Nate chuckled at that. Though it sounded horrendously flagrant to his ears, he couldn't help but suddenly feel exonerated, and it slowly unwound the sickened pit in his stomach, "That's a way to put it, I guess."

"You still sound uncertain, when in fact you know its true." Chuck saw Nate shrug, repressing the need to fortify such response by taking a mouthful of his Bourbon. "That is why I need to ask if this is ever going to end, this masquerade between you and _Miss Waldorf_. I don't mean to pry, Nathaniel, but we both know that if this is left untreated…the _consequences_, in the very least, would be _dire_."

Nate, interpreting his concern to be in conjunction with the elections, was reminded of his position, and he straightened up. Obviously, he hasn't thought that far off. Hell, before this conversation, he felt like a lost soul in Purgatory: aimless, hopeless, spineless. He looked at Chuck despairingly, "Man, I do not know what to do."

"Propose to her again."

"What? Chuck, you don't—"

"If what you've been telling me is true," Chuck stared at him again with those scrutinizing eyes; eyes that were ready to strike at the first whiff of deception, "you will make amends. If you truly _love_ Miss Waldorf, you would figure this out, before anybody else learns about your _lunch dates_."

Nate was now beyond aghast. He quietly stared at Chuck and for a moment he feared his sharpness, his ability to divulge the things he knows just on the right moment. What else does he know? He was very much afraid to ask. Nate is now even uncertain if this entire conversation was for his benefit, or if it was just a ploy to test him, to see if he was worthy of Bass Industries' stamp of approval come the Primaries.

Nate mentally cursed his cunning. How he can be a step ahead of him, and why he insists to be, are just a few things he'd very much want to know.

"Tonight…" Nate began, choosing his thoughts carefully, "my mother has asked Blair to organize a party."

"You'll do it tonight?" Chuck sounded surprised.

Nate nodded, "I'd like for you to come. Blair would be very happy to meet you."

"I see." Chuck finished up his drink and began to rise, "I'd be delighted to attend."

Nate watched him collect his coat, shrug into it, "Thank you, Chuck."

"Oh rubbish," Chuck nodded as he turned away, "Don't thank me just yet."

* * *

><p><em><strong>3:02 pm, 4 East 74th Street (Archibalds' Townhouse)<strong>_

"Serena, what are you doing here?"

Blair emerged from the hustle and bustle of the Archibalds' enormous dining room with a puzzled look on her face. Spotting a familiar hot pink Issey Miyake pleated skirt that could only be Serena's (as the other one was hers, and Miyake-san himself swore that there were only two of them in the world), she stepped out of the controlled chaos of linens, China and silver just to confront the pretty blonde purposefully standing at the hallway.

"You're not picking up your phone." Serena countered, her blue eyes turning into slits. Blair sighed heavily.

"I am quite busy right now," she delicately motioned her hand towards the dining area, "as you can probably tell." She added almost condescendingly.

As if on cue, two tall, burly men entered from the foyer that the girls had to step away, letting them bring a mammoth of a harp inside. Serena quietly took this in and her frown became ever more emphasized.

"You could have called me. Or sent me a message." Blair shrugged at her at this point before turning back to the preparations. Serena followed her intently, like a hawk on its prey, her lemon yellow Bendel flats slapping on the floor, "What is this for, anyway?"

The Archibald's butler chose to show up at this point with a fine selection of crystal and from them Blair picked Anne's antique Waterford.

"Nate is coming home from the campaign's leg to Albany, and Anne thought it'd be a good idea to prepare a dinner for him." She replied halfheartedly, her fingers falling on the Vanderbilt silvers, "Hmm…maybe I should bring out the gilded ones instead?"

Serena watched despondently as 'Zombie Blair' was once again sucked into her own world, whispering to herself and rudely walking away from her just to check on the flower arrangements stretched out on the long dining table.

"Huuuh…nope." The brunette tapped a finger and gestured for the butler, who came running in lightning speed, "Maurice? Can you be a darling and have the Egyptian linen sought out for me? The one with the Vanderbilt Coat of Arms?"

"B—" Serena tried desperately. Blair gave her 'the hand' without turning away from the butler; obviously, she wasn't done.

"And _please_ have somebody from the kitchen see me, even the Sous Chef would suffice. I haven't heard anything from them for the last half hour." Blair reluctantly turned back to Serena, suddenly turning snappish, "What?"

"B, I have to talk to you." Serena was now begging, worried so much by Blair's inexplicable aloofness, "Please, tell me what's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong, Serena. " Blair rolled her eyes, squaring her delicate shoulders, "I don't even know where you got this idea that something is wrong."

"I saw you."

"Saw me what?"

Serena didn't want to have to do this, but Blair was leaving her with no other option.

"Last night, in the bathroom—" She lowered her voice so that only Blair could hear, pausing meaningfully so that her thoughts would come across, "I saw you—"

Blair's eyes couldn't have flared any hotter, and the next thing that Serena knew was that, she was being dragged to the library like a very much despised ragdoll.

"You saw _nothing_." Blair flung her away once they were inside, slamming the door behind them. Serena looked at her like she's gone mad, flicking her arm listlessly to regain her circulation, "I swear to God, Serena—"

"Swear to God _what_?" Serena cried in despair, sick of being left out, exhausted by the worry she'd been carrying for months, "What _is_ wrong, B? What are you not telling me? Ever since you came back from Amsterdam you've been avoiding me like a plague! Do you think that this is easy for me? Why are you doing this?"

Blair decided that she wouldn't utter a word, much less make a breathing sound that could tell what she was thinking, and this pushed Serena to her limit, making her so angry that tears stung her eyes.

"I am your bestfriend, Blair! Do you even remember that?" Her yell echoed across the death of the room.

But Blair, she was made of stone. She looked back at her, clearly unmoved by her emotions.

"Have you always been this manipulative, S?"

Serena froze, blinking hard as she couldn't believe what she just said, "What?"

"Maybe I should rephrase it in terms that you'd be able to understand." Blair daintily tucked a wayward curl behind her ear, calm as an ocean before a storm, "Have you always thought of _me_ as your _best_friend?"

"Of course, I have!" Serena spat, the ridiculousness of her inquisition hurting her, "What are you talking about?"

Blair clucked her tongue, a wicked smile spreading on her cherry red lips, "Hmmm S, what a hypocrite you've become." She folded her arms together, regal as a queen about to send a vermin to the gallows, "When we were seven, and Lily and William filed for divorce, we promised to be bestfriends forever, through thick or thin—"

Serena watched her close the gap in between them, her Manolos clicking on the well-polished floor, suddenly resounding like death sentence in her ears, a requiem foreshadowing a cold sudden death.

"When we were in highschool, and when my parents decided to jump on the bandwagon, we renewed this promise over macaroons and Audrey Hepburn. Remember that, S?" Blair smiled, not an ounce of evil can be traced, "By God, we even watched Charade! How awful, huh? Then when my dad left with another man, we didn't need more words to remind each other of who we are, how we stand. We were S and B…together forever."

And Blair stopped just right in front Serena, her eyes suddenly turning harsh and cruel, "But I guess nothing is forever."

A chill went up on Serena's spine. Blair was now staring at her with an intensity of hate that she's never seen before, a hate so strong she never knew anybody could hold such ills, "B…" the blonde began to tread on the situation carefully. She felt something coming, "Why are you saying this?"

By now Blair was tired of the riddles.

"You _know_ what you did."

Serena paled, suddenly reminded of a sin she committed many, many years ago.

"I—" She quivered, her irises dilating upon realization. Racing with time, her face contorted as she desperately worded a coherent defense, but Blair didn't give her the opportunity; it was part of her punishment.

"Save it." Blair interrupted brusquely, eyes of amber fire challenging her to even try crossing her. "I don't want to hear it. Now that you know where your place is, I'm going back to _play house_ with Nate and his family, while you walk away and quietly repent for your betrayal in a place far, far away."

"B, please—" Serena reached for her arm, her heart breaking into pieces. She knew that her secret cannot be kept forever, but losing her bestfriend was something she was not prepared for…it was never in the equation!

Blair roughly shoved her away, "Don't touch me!" She screamed, stepping away from her with disgust etched on her face, "If you know what's good for you, you'd stay the hell out of my way!"

"Blair, please!"

The brunette continued to storm away without turning back, grabbing the door open in a frenzy.

"Blaaaaaair!"

The library door closed with a loud slam, the sound a metaphor of finality, of cessation, of a chapter abruptly closed, of a precious friendship that might never be repaired.

"Oh my God…" Serena said in choked whisper, hot tears escaping from her eyes. She fell limply on the floor as the full impact of the situation finally dawned to her, and she howled painfully, regretting her one time decision that was once so appealing to her young, foolish mind…

"What have I done?" Her hands caught her head, quaking, "What have I done?"

_This is not happening…_

"Blair…"

* * *

><p><em><strong>4:50 pm, 4 East 74th Street (Archibalds' Townhouse, Guest Quarters)<strong>_

Her cellphone whirred scandalously over the marble vanity, and without so much of another look, Blair reached out for it as she waved Dorota away from primping her hair. They chose to let her caramel curls loose tonight, for even though the banquet had undertones of sophistication, she wanted to exude an air of intimacy—even Anne stressed on this herself. Approving her reflection, Blair looked down to her cellphone and pushed the button to retrieve the call.

"Yes? This is Blair." The words flew off her lips automatically, and she was about to immerse herself with the next task of her accessories when the voice on the other end of the line stopped her cold.

"_The Plaza. Royal Plaza Suite. Now._"

Blair felt her throat close up. She didn't dare say another word, as his voice was different this time, edged with something sinister, something she instinctively knew was beyond her power.

"Don't make me repeat myself again."

Blair's eyes flew to the clock on the wall, "The banquet—"

"We had a deal. Don't keep me waiting." And there was a resounding click. Blair took this in with practiced serenity, calming herself while her insides threatened to give into turmoil.

"Screw him." She eventually whispered with insufferable indifference. What's the worse that Charles Bass can do anyway? Meh. Blair went back to her accessories.

Until a hurried knock came pounding on her door exactly half an hour later.

"Miss Blair," Dorota came with a younger maid following her, "Mrs. Anne look for you."

"Tell her I'll be there in a minute—" Blair paused, her eyes conflicted in between her Bvlgari pearl choker and Harry Winston pink diamonds. She back upon sensing the discomfort of the younger maid, "Is there something else?"

"Mrs. Archibald wants to see you right away, Miss."

_Really Anne? What is there that couldn't wait?_

"She's entertaining a guest who came in early, Miss, and I believe she needs your help."

Blair sighed, irritated that her pre-party beauty traditions are being interrupted. Reluctantly, she stood up from her chair before the vanity, motioning for the girl to get to the door, "Fine. Show me the way, please."

"Blair DAH-ling!" an explosion of Anne's endearment erupted on Blair's face when she entered Howard's study, an oddity, yes, but it was lost to her when she felt the first vestiges of an incorrigible, evil aura swathing the room.

"I didn't know that Mr. Bass here is a friend of yours!"

Blair felt all the blood on her face drain away, her eyes falling icily on the smirking man sitting comfortably on a wingback Louis XV chair. Her _**friend**_ looked so comfortable that her palms itched to wipe that silly smile—never has she felt this urge to murder a man before.

"Oh yes, but I believe Mr. Bass is being _too_ generous. We were mere _acquaintances_ the last time I heard."

Chuck gave her a mocking look of disappointment.

Blair gave him her sweetest smile.

"Is that so?" Anne was still in an unprecedented state of euphoria. In her tunneled mind she saw Blair's connection to Mister Bass as Nate's sure road to Albany, and of course from this point on she was hell-bent in a holy crusade to reinforce that connection how ever shallow it is, "Be that as it may, we will now consider him one of our closest friends." She gave Chuck's arm a friendly tap, "What do you say, Charles?"

"I'm very much honored, Anne."

Blair had already killed him four times in her mind.

"Anne?" Howard Archibald's head suddenly popped in from the door. He saw Blair first, standing near the entrance in a maroon J. Mendel, before his eyes found his wife sitting adjacent to a man, the same man he's been dying to meet, and knowing that he'll see tonight, "My God, if it isn't Bart's son!"

The rest of Howard's body revealed itself from the back of the door, and that's when everybody realized that he was still in his sailing attire. The lord of the house was fast to excuse himself, given everybody's obvious attention to his clothes, "Excuse my choice of an attire! I just came from Rhode Island with a couple of buddies—" He stopped himself only to offer Chuck his hand, "Howard Archibald."

Chuck courteously stood up, gratefully shaking his hand, "Chuck Bass, Sir. Nice to finally meet you."

"Oh, the pleasure is all mine!" Howard nodded way too cheerfully, and was about to draw Charles into a political discussion when he felt his wife's hand clamp meaningfully on his wrist. He immediately withdrew; marriage makes you a mind reader, you see.

"I should probably change into something more decent—" he looked at Anne, "Care to assist your poor man, Dear?"

Trained with the values of the days of yore, Anne didn't object, standing up from her comfortable position next to Chuck, "Of course." She looked at Chuck, "We won't be long, Charles."

"And Blair," she turned to her with a large, toothy smile, "please make Mr. Bass feel welcome while we're away."

The couple headed out of the study with a heated discussion about Howard's attire, unbeknownst to the growing tension that has been brewing for quite sometime now.

And then the door was closed.

"How dare you!" Blair murmured scathingly, wishing that her eyes could kill.

"I told you _not_ to keep me waiting."

"Oh, you poor thing. So what did you do to pass time? Jerk yourself with the thoughts of me?"

Chuck burst out laughing, "Oh Beautiful, such creativity. They seriously don't credit you enough for your wit."

Blair threw him a disgusted look, "You sicken me."

"Now, now, Blair. I'm not here to talk about your feelings…" Chuck stood up, straightening his suit. With panther-like grace, he began to approach her, first by navigating his way out of Howard's sunken receiving area, then climbing up the steps to where Blair is-by the door.

"It's been what…?" He looked at her meaningfully, before looking up to the wall where the clock is, "More or less half a day without you…"

His meaning quickly sunk in and Blair's eyes rounded like saucers, "You've got to be kidding me."

Chuck grinned, taking a step closer, making her step backward, "Oh no Waldorf, I don't kid about such _serious_ matters."

Blair took another step back, slapping his hand when it sprung out to touch her, "Stop it! Don't touch me!"

"Too much for you to handle?"

Blair shot him a deadly look, recalling herself say those exact words in Victrola. In her mind, flashes of what transpired after those words were uttered haunted her, and she did her best to fight them, subduing the inner slut inside.

But Chuck caught on quickly with her plans, "Oh c'mon Blair, don't you see?" He reached over again, his sleeves brushing passed her arms, locking the door now behind her, "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity…"

"Chuck, we are in Nate's house!"

"My thoughts exactly."

"You're impossible!" Horrified, Blair attempted to elbow away from him, "This is insane! And still, my thoughts stand: you sicken me!"

"On the contrary, I do no such thing. In fact, I know _exactly_ what I'm doing to you right now," Chuck smiled at her triumphantly, using his body to curb her attempts to escape. "Your heart is pounding so fast that its scaring you. But you secretly love it, the danger, the thrill, which you're mistaking for anger..."

"What an amusing theory, unfortunately it only applies to the laws of _your deluded world_."

"Does it really?" Chuck took a step closer, and Blair could have sworn that his aftershave was just a low-blow to her senses, "Care to test that theory?"

His arm extended its way to her.

"STOP." Blair slumped back. She looked at him in agony. "Just stop it, alright?"

"We had a deal Blair." Chuck said quietly, and his fingers continued their journey towards her skin. They made contact, and he caressed her arm. Blair could only sigh. "And the deal was that you'd be at my disposal."

"But in here?" Blair surveyed the room only with her eyes, and for the first time, Chuck haplessly saw them waver, like she had trouble letting go. "Don't you think that it's too much? Even for you?"

"How is it going to be too much?" Chuck countered, staring at her hard. He suddenly felt angry at her for being sentimental, for not letting go of Nathaniel who clearly didn't deserve her, "Nathaniel betrayed you because he couldn't handle you. He let you go because he was weak and he couldn't make you change for him. Once again I'm giving you the opportunity to be yourself, Blair, to be who you truly are, and feel how you truly feel! Now tell me how is that too much? Convince me, give it your best shot, and I'll let go!"

Blair flinched, his violent tone zapping herself back to sanity. "Nate and I have been together for a long time—"

"Not enough!" Chuck snapped, "Try again!"

"We have a connection—"

"Is that the best you could do? Try again!"

"I LOVE HIM!" Blair exclaimed, and suddenly found herself fighting tears that suddenly burned in the backs of her eyes. _There, I've said it_. She finally forced herself to meet his gaze, and the disappointed look that he gave her became her undoing.

"You still love him," He murmured, searching her eyes, "despite everything…"

Blair nodded, biting her lower lip as she didn't trust her voice.

"That's bullshit, Blair."

Tears fell from her eyes, yet Blair still nodded.

"You stubborn girl." Chuck whispered softly, reaching up to her face. His thumbs gently wiped her tears; his hands, lingering much longer than he should, "What are you so afraid of?"

And with this, Blair pushed him away. She wordlessly parted from his reach, walking regally to the windows, taking this time to regain her composure. Within seconds, Queen B was back. Chuck saw this transformation in quiet frustration and understood that their moment was gone.

Sighing, Chuck shook his head and unlocked the door, "Just do me a favor, will you?"

Blair made no indication that she cared.

"When Nathaniel proposes again tonight, think of what you truly want before you decide. You owe it to yourself."

And now, this time without expecting a reply, Chuck swung the door open, storming out of the room.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Hello my darlings! I know that this chapter has been long overdue! I'm really sorry for the delay, but due to my review classes I'd be more than swamped as ever. Do not fret, however, as I'm going to continue this story. Like many of you, I find this plot to be quite engaging in a dark, twisted way. But I guess that's just how B&C roll. I would also like to make a special shoutout to **BellaB2010** and **notoutforawalk **for giving me my much needed wake up call to go back and write again :D As for everyone else, thank you for your time, and please R&R!

XOXO,  
>-<strong><em>LFA<em>**-


	7. Chapter Six: Tango with the Devil, Waltz

Devil's Playground  
>By La Fata Aurora<p>

* * *

><p>Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Six: Tango with the Devil, Waltz with the Prince<strong>

**Amsterdam, Netherlands, Day 18**

He called her 'Beautiful', like it was her given name. Every time he said it, the more she believed it, and the more she believed it, the more she felt detached from her old self and the hard pressing reality that waited for her back in New York. That's probably why she stayed, far longer than her normal, puritanical self would have allowed. For the first time in her life, she felt truly light, like she could be _liked_ without a perfectly painted face and an expensive attire encumbering her delicate frame…

It felt good. Really good. So good, it bordered to an addiction.

Their rendezvous was, of course, where it all began—Victrola. He was like a snuff of cocaine, the first hit was usually wrought with hesitation, but after all moral screams have been silenced, the hunger trumps everything else. With everything else blurred in the background, it was very easy. Reasonable even. One look was all it took, sometimes, something even less. No flat surface was spared. It was ridiculous. Wild. Insatiable. It was _that_ good. So good, she almost didn't want to go back.

"Hah…"

Blair licked her lips, heady, flushed and ready to go. She shifted a bit and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. She arched back like a cat. As she expected, the familiar pressure slid inside her once again and she melted, trying not to swoon over in sheer pleasure. It was such an excruciatingly magnificent feeling—this pressure. With every single movement—his or hers, no matter how tiny, it intensified the strong pull towards that sparkling abyss, which they've come to inhabit more times than what was deemed enough.

Slowly, amidst their increasing pace, Blair opened her eyes. After a brief moment she remembered where she was, what she was doing and what she did next would definitely make Eleanor practically disown her.

She smiled. A wicked, promiscuous smile.

"Like what you see?" He smirked at her reflection, but it didn't reach his eyes, because they both damn well know that they're about to explode.

"Yeah…" She managed breathily, their sweaty, flushed and naked profiles glaring back at her from the huge bathroom mirror before them. Blair held on to the sink, her knuckles whitening as his fingers dug into her hips, letting him deepen his thrusts. She felt him wrap an arm under her waist and she was pulled up to an angle that transformed his thrusting to an even more glorious torture. She purred.

And screamed.

Heaven in hell.

Her sweet whimpering, the little spasms that she does when she's about to climax, was more than what Chuck could handle. Their last almost three weeks was a time he swore he would never forget, not only because of her insane effect over his body, but also because he didn't know how to define their satisfying 'tête-à-têtes**'.** He bucked after he felt her walls contract, groaning to a chorus with hers, his ears pulsating at the impact of release. It was delicious, no doubt about that, and the highs that it entails was beyond his comprehension.

_No words. No lies._ She told him at the very beginning. It was the most advantageous relationship, quite the ideal one for someone like Chuck Bass, indeed.

Indeed. Yes, indeed.

However, somewhere along the way, the fine line between black and white blurred into a stark gray. It must have been the continuous exchange of warm breath or damp skin. Or maybe because in time they started sleeping over, only waking up when the first fringes of dawn threatened to expose their entwined bodies to the world. It could also have been her faint perfume in his shirt that lingers after he has left, drugging him senseless throughout the day, and he's not gonna be able to concentrate until _that_ next time…

…_that_ next time when her doe eyes were all that he could see, a superhuman feat because most of the time they devoured each other only in the dark. It was frightening, his craving for her, but the animosity has long passed after his first few futile attempts to fight it. Every time he was buried inside of her he would always swear that it would be the last, but it never was. How he would let go—for eventually he has to—became the next predicament. Funny how that turned out too.

So what happened next was what Bass men did when they've gotten into their heads that they wanted something: total procurement. Absolute possession. Whatever floats your boat.

Feelings, such nuisance. Look where it has gotten them now.

Try imagining where it'd bring them later.

* * *

><p><strong>Present Time, 4 East 74th Street (Archibalds' Townhouse)<strong>

_When Nathaniel proposes again tonight, think of what you truly want before you decide…_

_Think of what you truly want before you decide…_

_What you truly want before you decide…_

_Truly want before you decide…_

_Truly want…_

_Truly want…_

_Truly want…_

_Truly want…_

_Truly want—_

"Blair Bear?"

Blair looked back and the echoes in her mind were immediately extinguished. She looked back and her eyes collided with soft blue ones, and her heart, immediately softened.

"Nate."

He was clearly forgiven. Just like that.

The golden angel stood like a glowing vision. He pushed himself from the doorframe to stand beside her, his approach like a divine descent. Movements—his were gentle, serene. He often caught Blair off guard; she frequently expected a choir of angels to suddenly sing in the background to exult his every move. Crazy as it seems, that is Nate Archibald's effect on her. For her, he was perfect. For her, he was the one. For her, he was the ideal knight-in-shining armor.

What a _prize_, indeed.

Nate began to open his mouth to say something, just to be interrupted by the arrival of the first few guests.

"Blair Waldorf!"

"Ooh, _the_ lovely couple!"

"How do you do, Mr and Mrs. Parker?" Blair was immediately back to her hostess mode, an occupation she'd perfected a very long time ago. She shook Mr. Maximilian Parker's hand, then she bent down to give Louisa's cheek a good measure of appreciation. "Nate and I are very happy that you're able to come."

"Hush dear, you know _Maxie_ and I would never miss an opportunity to spoil the two of you." Elderly Mrs. Parker reached for Nate and lovingly cupped his smooth cheeks, "And you, my darling, are sitting with me tonight, can I count on that?"

"Yes M'am." Nate dutifully replied, giving Blair an inquiring look, "I believe that Blair has arrange for that?"

Blair felt Louisa's comically hopeful stance and laughed, "Of course. Of course. I need no asking. I know very well how your godmother loves sitting next to you."

"Oh just fabulous!" Louisa quivered happily, letting go of Nate's face. She went back to her husband who watched with silent interest—Max has always claimed that his wife was sociable enough for the two of them—making way for the next guests who are starting to form an assembly line by the entrance. "We'll leave you for now." She made a little jolly wave to the couple. Her husband, on the other hand, gave an acknowledging nod, "See you at the dinner table."

The Archibalds' butler was escorting them to the drawing room when the Pembridges stepped up next for their turn, and after them, the Toriyukis, and after them, Mr. Hugh Garland from Mr. Archibald's yacht club.

"Thank you for joining us in a short notice, Sir." Nate nodded politely as his father's friend stepped into the foyer, the last of the first wave of arrivals. He looked at his left and found Blair consulting with their butler, Maurice, overhearing that eight more guests are expected. He took her arm to get her attention, and it effectively did, "Do you have a moment, B?"

"Nate, you know that we cannot leave until the designated time to close the doors." Blair had the guestbook in her hands, and she innocently opened it wider for him to read, "We still have your Dartmouth friends, and it would appear very rude of us if we're not here when they arrive."

"I'm sure that they'd understand, Blair." Nate frowned at the book, took it away from her grasps and deposited it into Maurice's hands, "Please. We have to do this before the party—"

Blair fidgeted inwardly. She saw the dampening of his glowing constitution, which confirmed what she thought he'd like to converse about.

"This talk has been long overdue…"

_Huh._

"Very well."

And off they go.

Nate pulled her towards the direction of the library, crossing the foyer, and while he did it wasn't lost to Blair that his back was a little tensed. It was only while passing the opened doors to the drawing room when he seemingly found his composure back, because she saw him straighten, waving at somebody before they moved farther down the hall. Blair instinctively blanched, but she didn't make a sound. As the soft waft of Bach's Cello Suite No. 1 didn't do its usually calming effects on her, she didn't have to figure out who it was. So just imagine how strung out she was when Nate himself volunteered the topic of _him_.

"Have you been introduced to Chuck Bass?"

"Is this what we're going to talk about?" Blair snapped, sounding very upset that Nate was taken aback. One look at his stricken face and she quickly backpedaled, fanning herself vigorously with her hand, "Sorry. I've been busy all day—"

Nate shook his head dismissively—_the understanding man that he is_—opening the door for them, "I'm sure you are. My mother can be very demanding at times, B. I hope you know that you can say no to her without worrying about me."

Blair made an assenting sound as she entered and opened the lights. Nate waited a bit, pulling her to the writing desk by the windows, and he sat on the ledge, taking both of her hands close to his heart.

"We have to talk about what happened." He softly began, squeezing her hands assuringly. His stance reminded Blair of the fair-haired prince from fairytales, and she paled, knowing exactly where this is headed to…

Shameful acquiescence.

He took her silence for consent.

"I've always wanted you, you know that. I've always adored you ever since we were little. You're the only one that I truly love, Blair. And what happened two months ago, I hope you'd reconsider—"

His beautiful sapphire eyes looked down at her, and they were filled with remorse, liquid torment that didn't match his being. Blair held her breath. She almost panicked at what she saw. _Nate can't be looking like this_, she thought. This didn't suit him! He is perfect, and will remain perfect, and that pain on his face—that ugly feeling—is like Charles Bovary's hat: incompatible, ridiculous, unnecessary! Blair felt the hairs on her back prickle; in an impulse she wished to purge the defect away. It was a monster messing up her pristine order!

"Why did you do it?"

She blurted out, surprising herself, apparently in an attempt to quell her thoughts. Belatedly realizing what she just said, she attempted to take it back. But Nate, he was more than happy to be absolved, that he didn't let her take it back, in an attempt to make himself clear, to come out clean.

"For so long I've adored you, but I also know that I don't deserve you." Nate reached into her face, his palm touching her cheek gently. "Do you even know how other people perceive you, Blair? Do you know how you affect them? Have you ever been aware that everytime you walk into a room, you just…_shine_. You always look perfect, you know what to say, you make people laugh. Even now when I know I've committed the gravest of sins, I know, deep inside you, there's a part of you that considers me before yourself."

Nate sighed deeply, the glittering hazel in his eyes making it seem like they changed colors, "Now how can I compete with that?" He demanded quietly, "How can I be deserving of that? God knows how I tried, B—"

"But you didn't have to!"

"But I want to! I want to be deserving of you, Blair! I'm a man—I need to be deserving! Don't you understand?"

"So when you failed, you decided to _fuck_ my bestfriend? Is that how it is? How convenient, then!"

Nate let her go, looking like she just slapped him. For a moment his eyes registered an odd look of surprise (he didn't know that Blair had the word 'fuck' in her vocabulary), before it morphed into something deeper, more comprehending…

Regret.

…for he knew that what she said was true.

Blair shook her head, stepping back. Her head was aching and it felt like several tons, so she pressed her hands on the sides of her face—something that she did to help her focus. Silently, she stood on her ground; it was obvious that they've reached an impasse. However, if they played their cards right, they could resuscitate what they have, perhaps even grow stronger from this roadblock.

_Think of what you truly want before you decide…_

Blair almost scoffed at that pestering echo inside her mind. _Of course_, Chuck wouldn't understand. She already knew what she wanted ever since she was young. She wanted to be happy. She wanted to be with Nate. She wanted everything that those fairytales represented—first the arduous training of the heroine, then the complexity of snagging the prince. The preparation of being a heroine has clearly passed, and now, she was at that point when she snags the prince. And yes, the snagging part is certainly getting seriously complicated, I mean, who ever thought of the 'bestfriend curveball' was clearly a genius. And Blair, she was the heroine, so this she must not forget. In order to get her happily ever after, she must get over this, she might fight this, be _bigger_ than this.

_What I want? _Blair turned her attention back to Nate, only to realize that he'd been talking to her again. His arms moved and she looked down, which was when she finally noticed the Vanderbilt ring in an antique box on top of his opened palm.

"_Blair Bear_, let's try this again." Nate slowly bent down on one knee and presented to her the box, "Will you marry me?"

This is it. Time to snag the prince.

"Yes."

Surely, happily ever after is at bay.

* * *

><p>"Splendid, Charles! Now only if we could convince your father to come!"<p>

Chuck was in the middle of enduring the company of Howard and four of Nate's other financiers when a flash of red caught the corner of his eye. If his memory on etiquette served him right, that obligatory half an hour of mild chitchat and aperitif in the drawing room is up, and moments from now, the hostess should be announcing dinner and ushering the guests to the banquet hall. Blair, on the contrary, didn't do such things right away, that when she finally arrived in the exact center of his vision, Chuck realized that she didn't come alone, and she had this look that jolted him right down to the core.

She looked horrified. Like she just killed someone accidentally.

He sipped his port, observing her every movement. She looked nervously at her right, as if sensing him, and their eyes met, for a second, just a second, and broken, sharply broken, by no other than Nathaniel himself.

Nathaniel in a cravat. Silly Nathaniel and his poorly executed cravat, hiding…_something_.

"Everyone! May I have your attention, please!" His voice had a commanding air in it, Chuck noticed, which he didn't like one bit. He sounded confident, pompus, a little too confident for his tastes.

The scattered buzz inside the drawing room died down. The Golden Boy smiled at this, his face an image of triumph and genuine happiness, like a once lowly sinner cleansed off all his sins. He placed a hand on Blair's, which rested naturally on his arm.

"I know that the invitations that were sent out only mentioned an intimate dinner for dear friends and family but," Nate looked at Blair beside him, his eyes glowing with tenderness that can make any damsel blush, "_my _Blair has finally agreed to take me as her betrothed, which also makes this a sort of engagement party!"

_Shit_. Chuck shot Blair an intense glare. Obviously, he didn't plan on her running back to Prince Charming after what he did? Or what he's still doing?

But she didn't know that last one.

"MY DEAR BLAIR!" Louisa came prancing around, almost to the point of jumping on the couple if it weren't for her husband. A buzz of congratulations and adulations came forth, and Chuck watched as the old woman patted Blair's white face with her palms, "You are to be my goddaughter very soon? How wonderful!"

_Wonderful? For crying out loud! _ Chuck wanted to scream and throw his tumbler at the poor old lady, looking at Blair's stricken profile. He couldn't believe this! This is not how it's supposed to be! And dammit! Is he the only one who could see how panicked she's looking right now? He clenched his jaw from total exasperation, scanning the room. _For fuck's sake!_

_What the hell are you doing?_ Blair shook as the intensity of Chuck's furious stare seared her skin. What is she doing? What is she doing? She felt Louisa swing her around like they were on the Yellow Brick Road. A pang of nausea suddenly shot from the pit of her stomach, and like a lethal venom, it coursed through her veins painfully. She waited for it subside, and while she did she tried distracting herself with the little old lady but failed miserably. She's supposed to feel good. At this point, she should have been in the mood to prance around with Louisa but just the thought of moving sent her reeling.

_Why? Why doesn't she feel 'it'?_ She continued looking at Chuck as the rest of the guest began to pull her away. Nate's proposal was supposed to be just the beginning of all the good things to come. It was the start of her dream! She expected fireworks bursting inside. She expected that thrill of excitement. She expected the heavens to open up and show her that castle in the skies…

But no. There was none of that. Blair trembled in realization, seeing Chuck's face work on a proper expression before he slowly turned away. She felt something drop as Nate obstructed her view of his back and hugged her tight. With the press of her Prince Charming's suit on her face, she saw darkness, pitch black, and in that moment, not knowing why, she felt her heart breaking into a million pieces.

'_Beautiful_', he called her, every night, for three weeks.

Now, she'll never hear it again.

* * *

><p>"Ugh."<p>

Serena paced around nervously, her blue eyes puffy, but still pulling off Zac Posen like a goddess. The royal blue skirt floated about as she stomped her black Manolos on the pavement, now and then stopping, as she angled her head everytime a sound reverberated from the Archibalds' house.

She doesn't exactly understand what possessed her to dress up and storm into Nate's party. She's not even invited. She has no business in there whatsoever. She's been on the curb for more or less twenty minutes now, arriving just about the moment Maurice began closing the front doors. The elderly man offered to show her in, but without a foolproof plan on her sleeve, Serena chickened out. Facing an angry, vengeful Blair without enough ammunition is a suicide mission, she should know. Now, still without any coherent plan, she exasperatedly clenched her fists, unconsciously thinking that it would somehow help in her fruitless venture to save her friendship with Blair.

"Hmph! What the hell!" She gave up, throwing her hands up in the air. She was acclimating herself with the thought of just winging it when the grand doors suddenly opened, and out came a dark haired man whose stoic features were somehow familiar to her.

"You!"

The Guy in the Bathroom!

Chuck blinked from his thoughts, irritated. His dark vision cleared and he saw a bombshell of a blonde woman pointing a finger at him, looking like he was the answer to all her prayers. He stared blankly at her.

"Serena van der Woodsen." He finally said, remembering her from his PI's dossiers.

"You know me?"

"You're always on Page Six." Chuck saw her roll her eyes as if that didn't explain anything. "With Blair."

Serena lowered her hand, the hints of arrogance in his voice not lost to her. Chuck felt her giving him a scrutinizing once over, her blue eyes hard and icy, as if she was certain that she'd find a stain somewhere on his impeccable clothing. "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"I don't need to answer that." Chuck gave her a curt nod, pushing ahead to move on his way, "Given that you're out here and I was invited in, speaks volumes."

Serena was appalled, "What a very rude thing to say!" She huffed, watching him walk away, "I know your face, whoever you are! And if you think I'll let you hurt my best friend, you're gravely mistaken!"

Chuck paused at mid-step. Serena momentarily thought that she had him there until he let out a laugh. A low, rumbling, sinister of a laugh.

"_Hurt _your bestfriend?" Chuck echoed incredulously, turning sideways to look at her with mocking disbelief, "Serena van der Woodsen, how dare you call the kettle black!"

Serena was shocked, gaping at him. Did Blair _tell_ this stranger? And with that, S couldn't help but feel betrayed. She was still processing this information when Chuck swerved for the kill, his eyes narrowed contemptuously, "You and Archibald deserve each other-Fucking leeches! I would take Blair away far from the both of you, even if that's the last thing I'd do!"

"You can't do that!" Serena found herself yelling. She was suddenly scared, scared at the thought of really losing Blair, for somehow this man looked like he could really take her away. "And how dare you! You know nothing about us!"

"Yes _I do_, and I know _more than enough_." Chuck briskly turned away, ominously striding towards his limo, clearly fizzling with rage. Serena let out a frustrated sound and was about to bash him with a comeback when the door swung open again, red, chocolate and glittering diamonds bursting outside.

"S?"

"B!" Serena blanched, aghast. _This is too soon of an encounter! _Her mind screamed. She was about to fumble with an apology until the look on her bestfriend's face stopped her cold, "B?"

"Where is he?"

Blair Waldorf never looked this lost, empty, and overwhelmingly distraught.

"Where is he?" She repeated, trembling, the tears in her throat undeniable. Serena fought within herself to stand straight, automatically swinging her arm towards the curb.

"Thank you."

And she watched her best friend fly away, "CHUCK!"

Serena was floored. Blair scampered away like she couldn't breathe, her hair wild with the breeze, her J Mendel just the perfect outfit under the bright moonlight. Serena turned to look at the dark figure further down the road; he slowly turned back after the wind carried his name. His eyes, narrowed and once inscrutable, widened with what little emotion he permitted to convey, and convey, they did.

"Blair?" he croaked in wonder.

The heroine fell into his arms, and he pressed her close to his heart. As Serena slowly digested this poignant moment, she felt her heart warming her, and a comprehending smile unfurled from her lips. The hero and heroine, they now looked at each other, no words passed in between them-they didn't need words. With the glorious city of New York in the background, under the velvety skies of this one beautiful Spring evening, it was like a scene in a—

"Fairytale." Serena whispered, finishing her thoughts, suddenly feeling tears of awe well up in her eyes. "Oh my God, B. You finally got what you've always wanted..."

_Think of what you truly want before you decide…_

"Let's get out of here." The hero whispered, and his heroine sighed.

_What I truly want…_

And into the night they disappeared.

And with the roles clearly defined, their fairytale truly begins.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: I must say that this update came a little later than expected. My Muses...they're in hibernation for understandable reasons (or maybe they're drunk in Victrola?). I really didn't want to get into the current GG shipping wars, but with the current state of the show, I just can't help but feel disappointed. Obviously, as a Chair fan, I'm really disheartened with what has happened to our dear Queen B, but what I really can't wrap my head around is the course that the story lines have taken. I still love the show, that is why I'm here to give out Chair love, and I hope I've done my part, because I've seen a lot of my Chairleaders feel so frustrated that they've sworn off the show. This saddens me. I'm not saying that I want to force them to back, I only hope that they come back in their own accord. So to my readers, I just want to say 'HOLD ON'! We have to see this through! I have always had faith in love, and since we, the CHAIR fans, have viewed Chuck and Blair as an epitome of it, we have to believe! Vive L'Amour!

Stay strong!

XOXO,  
><strong><em>-LFA- <em>**


	8. Chapter Seven: Devil's Playground

Devil's Playground  
>By La Fata Aurora<p>

* * *

><p>Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seven: Devil's Playground<strong>

The steady hum of the engine below was a calm respite. The graceful dance of evening shadows across the tinted windows, a welcome lull to the spirits…

They were huddled on cool leather seats, fingers intertwined, so close together, the distance between them, superfine. Side by side, they heard each other breathe—deep and tranquil puffs. Breathe. Breathing in the moment. Breathing in the night. Breathing in each other. Breathing in delight…

_Why did she leave?_ He mused to himself.

_Why did he walk away?_ She thought the same way.

So many questions, yet so little time…

_I still can't believe she's here with me…_

_I don't even know him, yet I feel…**this**._

Thoughts came and go. No words were spoken—they just came and go. It was somehow understood that this moment was meant for contemplation, a period of silence, a time that they could fondly look back on, knowing that it was the point when their lives were changed forever.

_I've missed you. I've missed this._

_I know. I know it all._

Or perhaps, it was that time when _they've fully accepted_ that their lives have changed course for good, never to be the same again…

_A wager, Beautiful. I find you, and you're at my disposal._

That was only the beginning.

"Chuck." Blair whispered. It came as a tenacious statement from her lips, not as a feeble, ambivalent inquiry. She turned her eyes up to him expectantly; those molten chocolate orbs warm yet questioning. _Trusting,_ to be exact. It cut through the comfortable silence they shared in the back of the limousine, a respite from the respite, if you will.

"What are we doing?" She breathes at last.

_What are they doing? _Alas, there it is, the big white elephant in the room.

For a moment, he didn't answer. It was much too complicated for a simple answer. Yet, Chuck's face, along with its strong features and confidently set jaw, softened, immediately understanding what she was handing out to him; how important it was. He actually felt humbled by this gesture, the weight of her trust rendering him unable to console her with half-truths and deflections, which are pretty much the only things that he could offer her with absolute certainty at the moment.

"I honestly don't know."

Besides, he just simply couldn't lie to her.

Nonetheless, Blair nodded, appreciating his honesty. She, too, realized that they were in a very unusual situation. Their relationship—whatever it is—was precarious as it was never defined, dangerous as it was founded by mere impulse and carnal desires. Their only consolation was that it was consuming enough that no words were necessary to confirm its existence, and that each one need no grandiosity to sense such exceptional fire.

A silent mutual understanding, 'twas.

"I ran out of the banquet." Blair declared a little later, in yet another whisper. A little cheery, this time around. Perhaps, she grew tired of the silence, or maybe she just wanted to move onto the next thing. Either way, Chuck leaned back on the headrest, looking ahead, his expression hooded, appearing nonchalant.

"Must have caused quite a scene." He murmured.

Blair cringed at this, already visualizing the mess that her little scene had caused, "Anne is going to kill me."

"For sure." He nodded.

"Yeah. For sure." She agreed.

And then nothing. Again. Silence just decided that it wanted to be part of the conversation too. Blair took this time to glance at the window outside, watching as the city flashed by, across her eyes. Distinct lines called to her, swishes of strong curves punctuated by dots. She played with the idea of comparing the picture with works by great masters, becoming torn in between Boldini and Munch, the former, a rapid executioner, while the latter, a gentle—

"Do you regret it now?"

Blair blinked, turning back. She was lost in her thoughts that she didn't exactly hear him, "Hmmm?"

Chuck caught sight of their joined hands. They comfortably rested on his lap—his over hers—and the sight of them together lodged something solid into his throat.

"Are you thinking of going back?" He asked again, because he has to know, and also because he wasn't quite sure of her answer to that.

"Why would you think that?" Blair processed this carefully, becoming aware of Chuck's expressionless stance and the way he avoided her eyes.

"You might not realize it but, everytime I feel that you're finally choosing me, the next thing I know, you're running back to Nathaniel."

"What?" Blair stared at him incredulously. Gaped at him even. She looked at Chuck's profile to read his face again, but his features betrayed nothing of what he truly felt. Perhaps, sensing what she was doing, he looked up from their hands and stared back, challengingly.

"Two months ago, your last day in Amsterdam."

Strike one.

"That time after your party, in your bedroom."

Strike two.

"In Howard's study," Chuck paused, a throbbing vein over his temple somehow escaping his control, "where you professed your _undying love_ for him, _for the second time_."

Strike three. Ping! Blair felt like he just slapped her with that accusing tone, "Chuck—"

But he didn't stop, he was on a roll, for he was just overflowing with images of her walking away from him.

"And every _damn_ morning in Victrola…"

"Chuck, why _this_ all of a sudden? What do you want me to say?" Blair took on the defensive, swiping him a calculating glare, "I'm here, am I not? I ultimately chose _**you**_! Isn't that enough? I chose you in front of Nate, Serena, Anne and _**everybody**_ else that matters! I don't understand this…where is this _even_ coming from? What more do you want? What else do you want from me?"

_Three words, eight letters…_

"So I see, you choosing me was only a big 'FUCK YOU' to the life that you hated? Is that it?" Chuck shot back, annoyed at her as she was now yelling, and annoyed at himself for losing control. Fool! "For fuck's sake, Blair, thanks a lot! I've always dreamt of being the gallant scapegoat!"

_Say it…_

"Dammit, Chuck! You're _**not**_ a scapegoat!" Blair cried out in frustration, "For the love of God, please stop this! How can you say that when you're very important to me!"

_Just say it, and I'm yours…_

"Then what is it? _What am I_?" Chuck sneered. In his jealous rage he saw nothing else for him, no place in her heart. Nothing. They were merely the 'Flavor of the Month'. Fuck buddies. A transient phenomenon, no more, no less.

And the worse part is, he doesn't want them to be like that. He's not going to let go. He'll keep coming back for her if he has to! Damn hell and highwater if he has to let go! "What am I to you, Blair?"

_Please say it…  
><em>

_Please._

"You're all that I have!"

Now _that_, he didn't expect at all. Chuck was taken aback, his eyes wide, "What?"

"You're all that I have." Blair murmured in a weak voice, revealing her truth. She caved with eyes suddenly filled with tears, and she quivered, the gravity of her revelation, apparently drawing too much from her.

"I had nothing, Chuck. _Nothing_." She squeezed her eyes shut, tears sliding down her face. "All my life, my mother didn't see the need to care for me. My dad, on the other hand, he has his own family in Paris…"

Chuck watched as her forehead wrinkled as she worked on her next words, as if they hurt her much more than the abandonment of her parents, "And Serena, who is a sister to me…she betrayed me…all of our times together…for what? For Nate?"

Blair stiffened, opening her eyes, "I was hurting all over, Chuck, but even then I couldn't say anything. I lost everything in a blink of an eye and I wanted to scream… but I can't. I can't let them see me broken—I refused to give them that satisfaction! But you see, it was just too difficult…it's suffocating to keep so much pain on your own…"

"Blair…" Chuck exhaled sharply, reaching out for her trembling hands, ashamed that he was the one who forced her to recall her pain, just for his own selfish reasons. He pressed his forehead over her smooth knuckles, willing to purge her off the hurt.

"And then, I found you. You _saved_ me, Chuck. Don't you realize? You made me feel whole, wanted, lovely and free…"

"Because you are." Chuck insisted, earnestly looked into her eyes, "You are just that, and more!"

Blair nodded, and she managed to smile when Chuck cupped her face. She felt precious with his touch, and relief flooded inside of her. "I know that now, because of you. You mean a lot to me, Chuck. Do you understand? So please, don't ever think that you're just a means to an end, because you're not. You're the only person that I trust with myself right now…You're more important to me than you'll ever know."

"I'm so sorry…" Chuck apologized, brushing kisses over her eyelids. He swiped his thumbs under her eyes, wiping the remainders of his foolishness. "Forgive me."

Blair nodded, pulling him to the crook of her neck, "Of course." She felt him relax in her arms and her heart skipped a beat, making her smile. With all the tough talk and swagger, he's such a little kid sometimes. "Chuck?"

"Hmmm?"

"Take me home, will you?"

"Do I get to see your bedroom?" and with that, they're back in the zone.

Blair managed to laugh at this transformation, sniffing a bit, "Maybe."

"I'll take that as a 'yes' then."

* * *

><p><em><strong>1136 5th Avenue, Penthouse (Waldorfs' Residence)<strong>_

Those three simple words hanging overhead…how powerful, how all encompassing…

Life altering.

What more if they actually said it, huh?

Like impulsive teenagers, two merry shadows flitted across the marble foyer and up the winding stairs, hushed tones indicating that a chase was in progress, and that the female of the pair was in the lead. When they reached the top step, the female let out a short yelp, and was muffled, and for a second, undiluted silence ensued, eventually broken by more hushed tones, until only a pair of footsteps can be heard traipsing the dark hallways.

"_Bass_, put me down! I can _**walk**_, thank you very much!"

"_Waldorf_, I'm making an effort in here, okay? So just shut your little mouth and enjoy the ride." Chuck shifted her in his arms as he scanned for her door, "Besides, we were supposed to _sneak in_ your place, which, by the way, includes _not_ waking up Dorota."

"Are you implying that I'm distastefully loud?"

Chuck stopped before her door, looking at her somberly, "Sorry. But yeah."

"How dare you!"

"Still wanna do this?" Chuck motioned his head to the door.

Blair crossed her arms, pouting, "You're lucky that I'm horny."

Chuck burst out laughing as he opened the door and carried her inside the room.

The bed loudly protested as they fell on top of the other, the sheets being ripped away as they kissed, moaned and scooted towards the headboard. Unlike in Victrola, there was no rush against the daylight, and unlike their previous encounter on the same bed, they savored each other openly, the heavy promise of the night ahead a shared experience.

They undressed themselves, but looks could have fooled one, for they also somehow did it with their eyes. Tossing her dress away, Blair sagged back into the mattress as Chuck's weight pressed her down, his lips brushing over her jaw, his breath swirling her sanity into oblivion. His hand, big and familiar, began its slow journey along her side, squeezing her hip just enough to give her _the kick_, lingering around the curve of her derriere to press her to his throbbing length.

"Really, Bass?" Blair managed to say in between ragged breaths, resurfacing from blinding desire. Chuck reluctantly hoisted his head up from her neck, mildly irritated at the distraction, "Already?"

Chuck didn't even deny it, shamelessly rolling his eyes, "Like you didn't know." And he returned to the task of taking off her bra using his teeth. No hands. _Damn_. He bit a cup down and Blair closed her eyes, happily relishing the feel of his teeth grazing the valley in between her breasts. But a second later, all calm was thrown out the window; she was sent thrashing, as her evil lover began sucking her buds without warning.

"Oh God, Beautiful. You have no idea what your voice does to me."

And again with the sneak attack: His fingers ransacked her core.

Blair moaned, feeling his fingers slowly fill her entrance, just to be ruthlessly taken away. She arched her back and Chuck obliged, entering her rhythmically with his fingers. She beautifully shook underneath his expert touch, and he appreciated her yearnings by rewarding her fragrant neck. It went on and on until a kiss, by her ruby red mouth, shifted the dynamics. Blair willed to instigate it—wanting to share her high—reaching out to his nape and coaxing his lips with her tongue. He opened for her, and she kissed him with her entire being, tasting him with all she has. And just like that, she effectively leveled the playing field.

Well, of course, this comes to no surprise: she only learned from the best.

"My turn."

Chuck let her roll him to his back, smirking fondly at Blair as she confidently climbed on top of him. It's true that he's had his fair share of beautiful women in his life, but no one else has affected him like she did. No one else has the same doe-like eyes, the same musical voice, or the same chocolate tresses that curl willingly around his fingers. No one else has fitted his frame perfectly, or shared the same wild passions, or challenged him until he was at wits end like she did…

"So what's the hold up?" Chuck pushed himself up when Blair decided to stay still on top of his hard-on (Of all places?), just to be pushed back. Her eyes gleamed playfully as she straddled him, dipping her lips down to his chin to trail kisses along his jaw.

"Remember that time in Victrola?"

"Which one?" To be honest, he just can't think straight with her sopping underwear sliding like that along his thigh. He groaned when the she-devil decided that his knee was the best place for a pit stop. "Blair—" He warned her.

"_Charles_." She warned back, giggling before she continued sliding down. Her fingers drew little circles on the taut muscles of his abdomen, slipping down teasingly over the garter of his boxers. She lingered, and Chuck finally remembered.

"Oh _that_."

Blair nodded, "Yes, _that_."

"The memory is a bit hazy, though, but it seems like you remember it fully well. Care to grace me with a play by play?"

Blair pretended to think about it, hooking an index finger over his garter, "What's in it for me?"

"You know fully well what's in it for you."

Blair bit her lower lip to keep her smile from showing. Epic failure. "You know I like walls…" she suggested, a sham excuse of a compromise.

"Well, _every_ wall, it is."

"And handcuffs." Chuck cocked a brow at this that Blair had to clarify, "On _you_."

"Doesn't make a difference."

Blair snorted, sliding a hand around his hard length. He was so warm and thick that it reminded her of how he used it to pleasure her senseless. In every possible surface…and angle. She blushed furiously at that.

"And Beautiful, whatever it is you're thinking, I'll do just that."

And Blair Waldorf was bought, surrendering as she brought him to her mouth.

Chuck Bass, on the other hand, was converted into a religious man.

"Oh God…" became his favorite praise to the Christian Lord, his jaw clenching harder and harder as Blair made him slick and wanting for release. He balled his fists over the sheets in a way to establish control, but with one look by her doe eyes while her cherry red mouth wrapped hungrily around his hardness, he felt himself giving away, his restraint faltering. He decided to sit up to refrain from premature release, cupping the back of her head to guide her rhythm.

And he watched her, drawing him in and out, gripping him with just enough pressure—she's such a fast learner, even back in Victrola—and he heard his heartbeat ringing on his ears. She was really so beautiful, so passionate…fire and ice, strength and vulnerability, a dame of contradictions. Chuck smoothed her hair, enjoying the sight, enjoying the feeling. Taking a moment, Blair pulled out, lightly kissed his tip, before beaming shyly at him. Chuck found himself smiling back, his chest tightening, and he was not at all surprised. Why he feels this way, he already knew long ago. He was just afraid of what she thought about it in return.

Denial is sooo overrated.

"Ready?"

They smiled at each other, Blair lowering himself to him. The moment of contact was ethereal, that they closed their eyes to take pleasure in the moment, a joining of wetness and warmth, of compatibility, of souls. Blair threw her head back as she created their pace, opening her eyes to meet his, wanting him to know how she felt and wanting to know how he felt in return. The look that he gave her sent her being flying into the skies. It was intense, consuming, difficult to control, so much that she couldn't believe how she missed that, or, if we were really to be honest, why she threw it back to his face in Amsterdam. Chuck pulled her face to his and devoured her lips with his. They both melted…

Yet, they were just getting started.

The mattress shifted again as Chuck flipped Blair on her back. He pulled out. He continued kissing her, he just couldn't get enough, and the little imp wasn't helping either, stroking him furiously and groaning madly in his mouth. Chuck pulled away from her lips, trailing down her throat before nipping at her collarbone. Blair purred in relief. She recognized that signal: He's about to take her to paradise.

"Say what you want." Chuck murmured thickly, his hands going up to her hair, before bracing his palms on the pillow behind her. He poised himself on top of her, his manhood slightly touching her sensitive and still covered entrance.

"I want you." She needed no further urging.

"Where?"

"Inside."

Chuck pulled her underwear away, putting his lips close to her ear, "How much?"

"Surprise me."

And he entered her tenderly.

"Oh Chuck…" she whimpered, exulting at his pressure, teetering as he thrust inside in insanely delicate strokes. He took her hands into his, crossing them on top of her head as he pushed deeper, his movements maintaining the slow pace, as if he was trying to savor every single moment that he was sheathed inside her. It was beautiful. Revealing. So pure. Against the bubbling sensation above her core, Blair was opened to something new. A different kind of release. A different sort of freedom.

_I love him._ She realized.

He was staring at her with the same eyes, that same adoring expression—it never changes, now she realized. Not when he's spouting snarky comments, not even when he's enraged by her, his eyes always conveyed the same emotion…

_I love him. _Her heart was pierced as Chuck pleasured her gently, and it gave her a different high, watching him do it so while keeping himself on check. Blair moved with him and he groaned, and with this knowledge, she wrapped her legs around him, accommodating them both. She's going to give him everything, she decided. Every inch of her. Everything.

"Blair…"

Her name on his lips, a gutteral hymn…and she was home. She sobbed as she came, her whimpers silenced by his consoling mouth, and he quivered, emptying himself inside. She spasmed as she received him, urging him deeper with her legs, never ever wanting to let him go. He was hot, alive and rejuvenating. She wanted all of it. She wanted all of him.

"My Beautiful Blair…"

Chuck smirked at her after a moment, bringing her hand down to his lips. He pressed a long kiss on the back of her hand, all the while staring at her, all the while still inside her.

Blair swallowed the lump growing exponentially on her throat. She was so full, that she was at the point of bursting…

Bursting…

"I love you."

And that was the moment when Blair saw the proverbial castle in the skies.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Tokyo, Japan (At the set of Eleanor Waldorf's Fashion Show)<strong>_

Lee Soo Young, a twenty one year old intern from New York's Fashion Institute, just wanted to be a designer. In a very young age, her epiphany opened her to a world of colors, crayons and balls of rejected drawings littering her floor, and she loved every minute of it, because it was her so-called 'calling'. So just imagine how she felt when one day, after an exhausting day of school (stupid Calculus. She's gonna be a fucking designer, so what's the point?), she found a white envelope sitting on her study desk with a familiar gold 'EW' emblazoned on it like it was a message from God.

She literally fainted. Thank God her parents were there, ready to celebrate—err, break her fall, rather.

"Put her on the phone!" the caller growled at her.

Now, she regretted that day, that white envelope with the 'EW' emblazoned on it, and Eleanor Waldorf.

_Aww, shit!_ Soo Young shook her head stiffly, scrambling to get herself together. She let the caller spew more threats and venom in her earpiece while she thought of happy thoughts: She's in a foreign country helping Eleanor's label out, she's _almost_ a trusted intern (for why would Eleanor pick her out if she wasn't), and Eleanor practically applauded her first pitch for a design by grunting a well-sounding 'Hmph'. All's well. No matter how difficult and abusive her employer was becoming these days, it _will_ pay off. It's for her future.

It's just a matter of relaying the phone call.

So…how do you do it again? Is there a manual for disturbing an irritable Eleanor Waldorf in the middle of planning her biggest show in Asia lying around somewhere?

I guess not. That's what she thought. Soo Young paused on the door, praying that her boss wouldn't chop her head off.

"Ms. Eleanor?"

She looked up, staring at her coolly above her personally designed reading glasses, "What?"

"A call from New York for you." Soo Young tried not to tremble under her slicing look, almost seeing puffs of impatient smoke coming from her nose, "Mrs. Anne Archibald?"

"Anne?" Eleanor took her glasses off, "Send her to my phone."

Soo Young nodded, pushing the appropriate buttons on her earpiece, "Mrs. Archibald? I'm going to transfer you now."

_Beep._

It went straight way to the phone on Eleanor's desk, Eleanor picked it up, throwing her head back confidently before saying hello, "Anne?"

It was her job to wait, wait until she was dismissed, so Soo Young wasn't prepared when Eleanor's face hardened into an ugly hue (like when the Japanese weather bureau predicted a ton of precipitation on the night of the show) hearing what Mrs. Archibald has to say to her.

"I see."

Soo Young recognized that twitch on her eyebrow. Not good.

"Don't worry, Anne. I'll fly to New York right away."

_Wait—what? When? Now? The fashion show is in two days!_

_Oh my fucking God. THAT bad?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Love, love...and then Eleanor! *cues Jaws' soundtrack in the background* LOL  
>So there it is, the start of a new SL. I'm sorry for the confusion, writing the last chapter in a way that it seemed that it was over. BUT HELL NO! Didn't I promise you a sexathon? Did I deliver, BTW? The above scene actually brought teeny-tiny tears on my eyes (I'm not even kidding)...just missed how C&amp;B actually did that to me on screen so I decided to concoct a thing or two of my own, to survive our CHAIR deprived days. Anyways, love, love your reviews! I truly love the burst of encouragement that you guys give me, and your feedback really helps me in molding the storyline.<p>

Thank you for your time! That's it for now.

Much love and XOXO,  
>-<strong><em>LFA<em>**-

P.S.: Oh and, don't forget **_not_** to wear designer clothes for the next chappie. ;) It's gonna be one hell of a muddy ride!

P.P.S.: I won't be held accountable for **_ANY_** dry cleaning! DO YOU HEAR? Peace out.


	9. Chapter Eight: Play, Play, Come Play wit

Devil's Playground  
>By La Fata Aurora<p>

* * *

><p>Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight: Play, Play, Come Play with Me<strong>

_**10: 35 am, Waldorfs' Penthouse**_

_Brrrrrrrrrr!_

"Hmmm?"

_Brrrrrrrrrrr!_ _Brrrrrrrrrr!_

Blair groaned, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Babe, your phone." Said a husky yet petulant voice. Blair ignored it, and so it was followed by a heavy arm pulling her back by the stomach.

Chuck nuzzled her neck, "Please make it stop. I haven't slept at all. It's been buzzing all night."

"It's probably _just _Serena," Blair murmured, her eyes still closed, "with a ton of questions, I bet."

"Clearly, you don't care about your bestfriend's curiosity—I get that. But at least have pity on _me_, considering _what wonders_ I did for you last night."

Blair grinned. He had a point.

_Walls. Walls. And more walls, it was. _

"I give credit to where credit is due..." Blair let out an exasperated sigh, opening her eyes. Reaching over to the nightstand, she grabbed the insolent device just to have her suspicions confirmed, "Thirty-seven missed calls? Seriously, S?"

And then she turned around, dangling her IPhone in front of Chuck's nose, "What do you think?"

"Chuck it away and make _this_ Chuck happy." He was dead serious.

"I already did that last night."

"Then do it again."

"Ugh." Blair sat up, the phone furiously vibrating again. She really didn't want to talk to Serena right now, or anybody else outside her room for that matter. But thirty-seven missed calls? "It's gonna be thirty eight now, Chuck. I guess I'd pick it up."

"It's up to you." He turned his face to the pillow, his arm dragging her back down with him. "But whatever you decide, let me have my sleep, alright?"

Blair decided to pick up on the fortieth call. She has this thing with multiples of ten.

"B! WHAT THE HELL?" Serena blurted out like she has been holding her breath for a long time.

"Hello, S. Good morning to you too." Blair rolled her eyes, turning a little sideways when she felt something warm creep up her thigh. She slapped on the duvet, making Chuck snicker with his face down on the pillow.

Serena sighed loudly on the other end of the line, "Sorry! But Blair, you have no idea what's been going on! It's been crazy, and I've been trying to reach you all night!"

"Serena, if this is regarding Chuck—"

"Trust me, B, _that_ is the least of your problems!" Serena exclaimed, and for a moment, she sounded really, really upset, "Last night when you left the Archibalds', I overheard Anne requesting for an overseas call to Tokyo—"

_No shit!_

"I don't know much of the details, but from what little I could hear about the conversation, I think your mom is—"

A loud, resounding knock pummeled her door. Blair looked up, her eyes wide, nervously waiting for a follow up, "Yes?"

"MISS BLAIR!" Dorota practically shrieked, "MISS ELEANOR IN THE LOBBY!"

"WHAAAT?" Blair jumped out of her bed, surprising Chuck who reflexively sat up with a pillow in his hand, ready to attack the intruder. Blair found his boxers on her feet and she tossed it at him, "Dorota! Don't come in! And Chuck! Get dressed, will you? My mom is here!"

"Your Mom is there already?" Serena was now panicking. "I knew it! Nate wouldn't say anything but I knew it!"

But Blair wasn't listening. Flinging her phone away, she rummaged through a little heap by the window and found her robe amidst what look like her curtain (or what's left of it) and one of Chuck's shoes. She threw the said shoe over to his direction before scavenging the floor for more articles of his clothing, "CHUCK, where the hell is your shirt?"

"You're wearing it." Cool as a cucumber, Chuck was lazily pulling on his pants as he smirked at her. He shouldn't even be thinking of smirking at her like that, but with her wearing nothing but his shirt while jumping around the room in panic mode was the most adorable thing he has ever seen in his life. Blair, however, didn't feel the same way, glaring at him.

"You THINK that this is funny?"

"_No_. I think _you're_ lovely." Chuck replied with all sincerity, walking over to her to collect his shirt. Blair sighed, pulling on the buttons as he bent down to retrieve the discarded robe on the floor, "Calm down, Blair. What's the worse thing that could happen?"

"Than my mom finding her daughter whom she hasn't seen in months in a room with a man whom she doesn't recognize?" Blair was having difficulty unbuttoning the shirt. Her fingers were shaking. Chuck swung her robe over his shoulder, reaching out to help her with the task, "Yep. There are much worse things. Like a nuclear attack on Manhattan or the end of the world."

" Sweetheart, calm down."

"I _am_ trying!" Blair shouted, and immediately, she regretted her outburst. Chuck began to draw his hands away, but she grabbed them back, looking at him pleadingly, "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." Chuck sat on the bed and waited as Blair attempted to unbutton the shirt again. She appeared to be doing it right this time, that they exchanged the shirt and the robe not long after.

"Blair? You don't have to worry about anything, you know that right?"

Blair shrugged into the robe and tied the sash, tight, "I know, Chuck. I really do. It's just that my mother can be unpredictable at times…"

"Well, if she's anything like other mothers, we could expect her to freak out and throw things _at me_. So you see, _I_ should be the one worried here."

His attempt to make her smile worked its magic, the corners of Blair's lips twitching a bit, "I'd love to see that."

Chuck let out a boyish grin, reaching out to her, rubbing her arms. She relaxed at the warmth that his hands brought her. "We'll be fine, you'll see."

Blair took a deep breath, nodding at his words. She really believed him. Truly. If there was one thing that she was realizing early on in their relationship, it would be Chuck's ability to make her feel secure with not so many words, which he makes up for by doing little sweet gestures here and there.

"I'll have Dorota come and pick you up." Blair kissed him squarely on the lips when he tried to object, his hands raised up in the air in protest. Although she absolutely loved the idea of Blair and Chuck against the world (a.k.a. Eleanor), she decided that it was better to face her mother alone right now, given that its been months since they last saw each other, and she has no way of telling what her temperament is, at the moment.

"Blair—" He frowned at her, looking not pleased at all.

She responded by craftily stepping away from his grasps before he could stop her, waving with a playful wink as she opened the door, "Don't miss me too much, Bass."

And with that, she slipped out of the room, leaving him to sigh on his own.

"Damn Bass," Chuck sulked, donning his shirt, "what have you gotten yourself into?"

* * *

><p>"Don't let my mom see him, okay?"<p>

Blair cautiously whispered, pulling the lapels of her robe closed as she and Dorota stepped down the flight of stairs. The maid nodded dutifully, but it was obvious that she disapproved of the entire scheme, suspicious of the roguishly handsome young man whom she caught a glimpse of moments ago, before Blair shut her door.

Blair didn't miss the look on her face, and in a sing-song tone she added, "It's none of your business, Dorota…"

The maid harrumphed at this, crossing her arms rebelliously, "I clean your room, so it is my business!" Blair threw her a puzzled look, for what could that possibly mean? Dorota was more than happy to expound on her case, though.

"The mess! I never see that much mess! And I hear you last night! God is always watching Miss Blair! And you keep using his name in vain!"

"Oh…" Blair wasn't even embarrassed. She looked back to the direction of her room and then downstairs to the direction of Dorota's, roughly calculating the distance between rooms, "All the way to your room, huh?"

"Unlady-like, Miss Blair. Unlady-like!" Dorota was clearly appalled that she wasn't even ashamed of herself.

But Blair, she didn't care one bit, managing to even smile proudly, "Maybe we should think of soundproofing this house, after all."

And they reached the bottom of the stairs just in time for the elevator to chime open.

"Mother." Blair greeted the tall stern lady who stepped out, wearing a two-piece mint green suit—an Eleanor Waldorf original, of course. Her mother wordlessly let Dorota grab her bags; her stony look intensified as the bellboy accompanying her, awkwardly and momentarily cut her view of Blair by the stairs.

"You're back early." Blair tried again, trying not to dwindle into a puddle of nervousness at the same time. For a second she looked at Dorota and the bellboy to distract herself, suddenly anxious at how intensely her mother was observing at her.

"In my office, now."

Blair felt like she just kicked her in the ovaries with that tone. There was certainly a veiled comment there that escaped her, the slight narrowing of Eleanor's eyes an indication. Blair quietly let her mother lead the way, mentally noting her stiff, ramrod straight back as she followed her to the office down the hall. There was definitely something different about her mother today, like a mixture of overpowering emotions forced her shoulders back into a rigid square, but that same square, in one wrong move, could topple the mighty Eleanor Waldorf down…ruining her.

It's odd but, for some reason, Blair almost thought that she was…vulnerable.

_Her mom? Vulnerable? _Blair felt her heart rate pulsing upon drawing that conclusion. It reached her ears and she wanted to laugh it all out.

But Eleanor, she remained quiet. Too quiet.

"Mother?" Blair finally whispered, becoming concerned.

However, now inside the room, Eleanor spun around, and without another word, slapped her hard across the face.

"You miserable ingrate!" She bared her teeth, indifferent that her daughter almost lost her balance, unmoved that she cut her lip. "I swear to God, Blair! If you mess this up, you'd find yourself on the streets!"

Blair felt her walls crash down. _What?_ She doesn't understand. The carefully tucked whirl of emotions inside of her exploded, all her insecurities flooding out again, crushing the fragile dam that she'd managed to create out of Chuck's love. Her throat automatically closed up, and she suddenly couldn't breathe; the pure hatred in Eleanor's eyes sending her into spasms.

"Mom?" In a little voice, Blair held her stinging cheek, sending Eleanor a confused look that somehow enraged the older Waldorf even more.

"You are going to the Archibalds _right now_ to apologize! Do you hear me?" Eleanor placed her hands on the sides of her face, as if trying to alleviate the onset of a headache. Exasperated, she started pacing about, her heels clicking ominously on their lacquered floor, "Tell them that you're sorry, and that it was just a lapse of judgment. PMS!" She motioned her hands, sputtering, "Whatever your reason was, you're going to FIX THIS right away! Do you understand?"

"Mom," Blair exhaled sharply, gripping on her lapels, "I'm not going to marry Nathaniel!"

Eleanor froze. It took her several long seconds to process her meaning before finally swiping an incredulous glare at her.

"You stupid dolt? He proposed to you and you rejected it?"

Blair's eyes went wide. Eleanor charged over and grabbed her arm, her blood red nails ruthlessly biting into her skin, "What is wrong with you? I give you one thing to do and you ruin everything! How dare you do this to _us_? You know that we _owe_ the Archibalds!"

"But mother I don't love him!" Blair exclaimed, finally finding her voice in the midst of all the hysteria, "I don't love Nate!"

"What do you know about love?" Eleanor shot back, shaking her. She stared at her frustratedly, so frustrated that Blair was astonished at the level of worry that it inflicted on her, "You're young, and with that you know nothing! Love is just fantasy, a fantasy created by fools weak enough to believe it! _I expected better from you, Blair_. _I'm really disappointed_. _I raised you to be better than this_—"

She roughly let her go, placing a hand over her chest as she composed herself, "Go back to your room and dress yourself with that 2009 empire dress that I designed for you. Nate loves that dress on you-that'll get him back. Be ready in an hour." She swung the door open, stepping out.

"Mother, please, I don't want to do this!" Blair cried out, moving out of her temporary paralysis. With heavy feet she ran after her, but upon reaching the foyer she stilled, her heart hurling up to the base of her throat at what she saw.

Eleanor's back was quaking, like a volcano ready to explode.

Further ahead, Dorota, caught red-handed, was having a hard time slipping a reluctant Chuck Bass out of the penthouse.

"Who the hell are you?" Eleanor didn't even try to conceal the venom in her voice, directing all the scathing poison towards Chuck. She wasn't born yesterday, and by looking at his rumpled appearance and Blair being inappropriately dressed at this ungodly hour, she didn't have to be rocket scientist to catch on what was going on.

Unfazed by the attempt to intimidate him, Chuck straightened into his full height, and in all arrogant glory, the Devil was summoned back. With one quick look he found Blair's gashed lip and his jaw tightened, his eyes zoning to Eleanor with cool contempt.

"Did you do that?" He asked calmly, purposely ignoring her question. Once again his eyes shifted to Blair, who shook her head pleadingly, and this he also ignored, looking back at Eleanor with eyes that could have sent grown, burly men cowering.

But hey, she's Eleanor Waldorf, and Eleanor Waldorf wasn't notorious for nothing. "Get out of my house."

"I'm not leaving without Blair."

"Chuck, please." Blair's throat was so dry it hurt. She looked at her mother's back and her eyes filled with tears. "Please, don't—"

"You are a fool to think that she'd choose you over me."

"She loves me."

Eleanor scoffed, "Irrelevant."

"Mother!" Blair grabbed her by the arm and she was flailed away, like the mere contact disgusted Eleanor, "Please, that's enough! Let him go!"

"Blair, I'm not leaving without you." It was a confident declaration. A daring assumption filled with trust, but a newly established trust and no more, that it could be diminished in a blink of an eye. Blair looked at him and her eyes burned. She wanted the earth to swallow her whole and take her away from this mess. This test was too sudden, too much. All too much that her insides were howling at what she's about to do. What she must do.

"Chuck, I can't leave my Mother."

Eleanor simpered triumphantly.

"Blair," Chuck uttered in a voice that clearly said that 'the matter was not negotiable'. "I'm not leaving. _Without you_."

The emphasis was crystal clear.

"Young man, I applaud the gesture and all…but let me assure you, that you'd be better off _soiling the sheets_ of another household." Eleanor regally crossed her arms, and it was evident where Blair got that move from, "This is not going to be the last time that Blair is going to choose _her family_ or _our world_ for that matter…" She rudely gave him a daring once over, " over _some stranger_…"

Eleanor continued by giving her daughter a sideways look, "Tell him to leave _now_. Just the sight of him makes my head hurt."

Blair raised her head up, her chest tight. She saw Chuck slowly shaking his head in hopes of changing her mind, and she felt her stomach drop from a sickeningly unprecedented height. She felt breaking inside—she has no other choice—that all she could accomplish was a defeated rasp, "Chuck—"

_Don't do it, Blair._

_I'm sorry._

"…please, just go."

Anyone could have commended Chuck with his restraint, considering the myriad of emotions that boiled furiously inside of him: He was angry at Eleanor for hurting Blair. He was hurt that Blair was choosing her psychopath of a mother over him. But more importantly, he was frustrated at himself for being a damned whipped pussy, acting like a lovesick puppy—totally uncharacteristic of Chuck Bass. _What has happened to him?_ The bludgeoning was just surreal, if he really wrapped his head around it, so it came as a surprise, even for him, when he easily threw the towel, did nothing else but yank his coat from Dorota's hands before walking away towards the elevators.

"Chuck, wait!"

The elevator opened as if on cue, and for a moment Chuck thought that she changed her mind, glancing at her on his side, only to have his hopes cruelly crushed.

"You're not coming." He murmured with finality, seeing the frustration in her eyes. He turned away to step on the platform, only to have Blair pull him back.

"Chuck, wait. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but you don't understand—" Agonized tears fell from her eyes as she felt him slipping away, the happy face of that man from last night untraceable from his features, "Please—"

Chuck closed his eyes for a second, collecting his thoughts, summoning the courage that he needed for his next words, "Blair, I did the most dangerous thing last night when I said I love you…"

He fully turned to her, noting her beautiful eyes pooling with confused tears, and the little ugly mark on her lip. He brought his thumb up, caressing it lightly.

"…but now thinking of it, I don't actually remember you saying it back."

Blair paled. She stiffened as the implications of his words swept all over body, and she burst out, fresh tears streaking her eyes, "But I love you! Not saying it doesn't prove that I don't!"

"I know." Chuck nodded sadly, wiping her tears away, "But I bared my soul to you. I'm completely vulnerable still. Perhaps, it's time for you to do the same."

"Chuck, I don't understand."

"I'm done running after you." Chuck gently explained to her widened eyes. The caramel hues darkened into a look of betrayal, and he stepped away, saddened by her reaction. "It's your turn now, Beautiful…"

He quickly pried himself into the elevator as it started closing. Once he was comfortably ensconced, he looked at the second image of Blair, and as her eyes morphed from betrayed to contemptuous, only God knows how his heart ached for her...

The doors closed in between them.

Of course, he still loves her, no doubt about that, but he is Chuck Bass, and the original Chuck Bass always prided himself in putting no one else before himself.

"You Basstard!" Blair hissed as the elevator closed. She was shaking all over, her fists itching to hit the metal doors, for she was so dismayed at Chuck that she couldn't think straight. Here she is, _once again_, judged by a person she chose to love with all her heart. _Once again_, she wasn't enough, after all that she's done, after all her efforts, she wasn't enough. Why is saying it out loud so important? Wasn't being with him for hours and hours last night enough? Wasn't crying out his name with unmitigated love enough? Why does he _insist _on being pigheaded about her not giving everything, when she in fact has given him everything?

And running after him? No, no, no, no, no! Not even after hell freezes over!

Blair bit her lip, staring hard at the gleaming elevator doors, forcing herself to hold the rest of her tears back. She is not going to cry anymore. He is not worth it! If a person doesn't love you at your very worse, you cannot expect that person to truly love you at all!

_But I bared my soul to you. **I'm completely vulnerable still**. Perhaps, it's time for you to do the same…_

And that's when it hit her.

Oh my God.

"Chuck…" Blair felt her shoulders give away, her forehead leaning on the doors. The cool metal stung her skin, and she slipped down to the floor, sobbing at her foolishness, her pride. _Stupid, B. Stupid, stupid, B_. All Chuck did was find her in the haystack that was New York, cross an ocean to do that, bravely believe the strength of their time together in Amsterdam was enough—he simply just loved her. All the games, the plotting…it was all for her, because he knew her well enough to know that Blair Waldorf doesn't simply changes stripes without knowing its worth.

Now, she finally understood what he wanted, what he kept asking from her over and over again. It was simple really.

Love, it wasn't about being enough—it was being _confident in not being enough _in front of the person you love.

"Miss Blair?" Blair looked up only to see Dorota's worried eyes. She reached out a uniformed arm to help her up to her feet, later wrapping it around her shoulder to help her regain her balance, "Let's go to your room. I have fresh macaroons, if you want."

Hesitant to turn away, Blair was surprised to find her mother still standing on the foyer. She had an unreadable expression on her face, but for the first time in her life, Blair didn't even care to figure out what it meant or how it would affect her, shooting the older Waldorf a mutinous look that made Eleanor stiffen.

"You can tell the Archibalds to _shove_ it, because I, _for the life me_, am not going to marry their _cheating fucker of a son_!"

"Blair Cornelia—"

And they were on their way.

Dorota and her beloved charge walked up the steps in companionable silence. For many years, the older woman had taken care of her Miss Blair; she looked after her meals, her clothes, her grades in Constance, the way she carried herself. She was all for making Blair the proper Upper East Side heiress, but today, with all those obscenities spouting out of her delicate mouth, she couldn't be more proud of her.

"You did well, Miss Blair." They reached the top step, both feeling Eleanor's eyes boring holes on their backs.

"I know." Blair whispered, "Thank you, Dorota."

* * *

><p>"Mister Bass!"<p>

Chuck was shrugging into his suit when a familiar voice alerted him from the side street. He just stepped out of Blair's building with a thumping migraine on his head and a hole on his heart, but the moment he recognized the voice, it was enough to straightened him up; his eyes, cautiously narrowing.

"Gustave." It sounded like a death wish on his lips. 'Gustave' nodded.

Chuck swore under his breath before stealthily scanning the area around them. The street was bereft of his limousine, and in place of it was a black Cadillac Escalade. That only meant one thing, and Chuck wasn't happy about it.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He bit out through clenched teeth.

Gustave mumbled something, most likely a colorful obscenity in French, and afterwhich he motioned his head towards the SUV, "Mr. Bass, I think its better to do this inside."

But Chuck was already one step ahead of him, irritably depositing himself at the back of the aforementioned vehicle. "Where's Arthur?" He snapped once inside, taking a survey of the car before finding a lone IPad on the seat beside him.

"He's back at the Plaza, Sir. We understand that you insist on letting him drive the limousine alone."

Chuck wasn't impressed. He fished for his phone and retrieved it from his coat pocket, turning it on as Gustave started the engine. "I explicitly told everybody not to approach me while I'm in New York. Why is that so difficult for you to follow?" He momentarily paused to find that, just like Blair, somebody has been busy contacting him all night.

"Is this your doing?" Chuck flashed his phone across the rearview mirror so that Gustave could see. The guy looked at his left as he drove out to the street, shaking his head in a negative gesture when he was able to.

"No, Sir. But judging by the circumstances—."

"What circumstances?" Chuck tried to call the unregistered number, but to no avail. Gustave was silent for a while, and Chuck sensed that he was trying to diminish the eventual impact of what he was about to say.

Chuck was in no mood for this, his patience wearing thin, "Out with it!"

Gustave let out a defeated sigh, "You are needed back home, Sir."

"And why is that? I have everything under control."

"No, Sir. I'm not talking about Bass Industries—" Gustave slowed down for a red light, making a smooth stop just before the white line, "It's your father, Sir…"

"My father?" Chuck's forehead wrinkled in confusion, "He wants me to come back home when he's in Cabo?"

"He's not in Cabo anymore, Mr. Bass. He's in Amsterdam, in AMC's ICU to be exact."

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: I, for some reason, had Robyn's 'Hang with Me' playing in my room as I brainstormed over this. I'm not exactly sure why I'm saying this but, it kinda fits because its one of C&B's songs in the show. The coincidence of it playing out of many songs in my iTunes, astounds me. :) Anyway, I just wanna clear something up: I'm a little worried about the aim of this chapter...if it's effectively coming across or not. Like how I've mentioned before, my fic is basically Romance/Drama/Smut (hahaha, hell yeah)/Psychological, so many of my themes here are implied, so I encourage reading between the lines. Blantantly speaking, this chapter exposes Blair's faults, her weaknesses (for she is human after all), but that doesn't mean that she's not a bitch (which we love about her). I plan to do one of Chuck's too, for the sole purpose of achieving that beautiful juxtaposition of characters (I love parallels too. Heh), so please sound off to my attempt with Blair's so that I can make adjustments with Chuck's...eventually (I'm just not ready to make a weakling out of Chuckie. He's just too damn sexy for that).

Thank you to all my readers for their loving support! I'm getting closer to a hundred reviews...hrm...maybe I should do my own rendition of an explosive 100th? Love you guys!

XOXO,  
>-<em><strong>LFA<strong>_-

P.S.: To my darling _**Ladynet**_, the answer is _*squeal*_ but no, I made that line up. Thank you for noticing though! Macaroons?


	10. Chapter Nine: Upon the Gates of Tartarus

Devil's Playground  
>By La Fata Aurora<p>

* * *

><p>Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Nine: Upon the Gates of Tartarus<strong>

_**Somewhere in New York**_

"You're not well, Nate."

It was one of those secrets. One of those Upper East Side secrets known only to a chosen few, and is hidden, carefully guarded, behind closed doors.

"I'm fine." Nate breathed hard, pushing himself in. Perspiration trickled down his face and he licked his lips, preparing himself for that feeling…that good feeling.

"_Natie._" He was deflecting. If it was about her or the situation at hand, or both, she wasn't quite sure.

And then Nate moaned, a telling moan.

She's in love with him. She's been in love with him since forever, in love like how God intended a woman to love a man…

"Open wider, S."

But she's not Blair.

"Oh God, you feel so good…" Blasphemy.

And it hurts. It hurts so much, yet what can she do? She loves him so…there's nothing else to do.

"We have to call Blair." She insisted.

"No." Was his stubborn reply, like always.

And Nate came wonderfully. His beautiful face was taut, his blue eyes hard. He pulled out when he was done and Serena had to stop herself from crying over the loss, but she wisely held on to her pride; it's all that she has left.

"Nate—"

She reached out, only to change her mind. Serena slumped back, watching his well sculpted back work on the task of pulling into his shirt. The ripples were smooth yet sinewy, beautifully manly. However, that same back, it was in grave danger. For many, many years, it carried a weight so heavy, it was now threatening to fall apart…

"I've managed all these years." Nate said coolly, perfectly composed. He needed no clarification as to what she was truly pertaining to, that Serena briefly regretted breaching into a topic she knew greatly agitated him. "She doesn't have to be _involved_."

_Of course._

…and the sadder part is, no matter what she does, no matter how hard she tries, it's only Blair who could truly save him. Blair. Only Blair. She's the key out of his misery…

This realization never failed to fill Serena's eyes with tears.

"I can't do this anymore, Nate." She rasped.

Nate spun around, surprised to hear so much pain in her voice. "S…?"

"I love you. I always have…but it has become too painful—" Serena pulled the covers up to her chin. At this point, any act of self-preservation was futile, foolish even, but she felt so naked, so raw, she was afraid that she'd shatter in front of him, "I can't be her _substitute_ anymore!"

Substitute. Yes, she was a substitute. A substitute that fell in love.

How trite.

"I can't…" With beseeching blue eyes she looked up to him, hoping that he could understand, "Nate, I can't go on sleeping with you anymore."

She clawed her fingers over her head, her forehead wrinkling, her usually bright eyes losing their light, "I almost lost Blair because of this. I can't lose myself too…"

Her tears fell, and she didn't want him to see them, so she folded up and pressed her face on her knees, hiding.

"Serena…" Nate felt his heart go out to her, hating himself for not anticipating this, for not seeing what he was doing to her. All he wanted was a break. A friend. A warm hug. A place where he could be ugly and imperfect. A place where he could not be Nate Archibald—an icon of sham divine-like virtue, of misguided worship. Never in his mind did he intend to hurt her or make her suffer like this…nor did he intend for her to fall in love with him.

"Don't cry! Please!" Bursting with uncertainty, Nate pulled her shaking frame into his arms. Way to go Archibald! Serena is your precious friend! She had always been there for you, and the last thing that you should be doing is making her unhappy, fucking things up with her too! "You don't have to come anymore!"

"Do you hear me? S? You can leave. Don't worry about me." Nate kissed the top of her head. It was his form of saying goodbye. Serena raised her head at this, apprehension clouding her face.

"But what's going to happen to you?"

"Like I said, I can manage on my own."

"No! I'll still be your friend! Some things would change but not _our friendship_—_Please_, Nate." Serena pulled his hand, shaking it in between her palms. She didn't want to think of the consequences of him being alone; he's much too…fragile to be on his own.

"You have to stop doing this." She pleaded.

"It's easier said than done."

"No it isn't! I'm here for you…Let me help you!" Serena pressed his hand to her heart, wanting him to know that he could still count on her, how far she could go, "We'll think of another way…but we have to call and tell Blair. You need her."

But Nate, he wasn't ready. With all his supposed perfection, Blair Waldorf was the one person that he knew he couldn't reach. He wasn't worthy, for he was ugly inside, and he couldn't bear it if Blair knew the extent of that.

"No Serena." Nate pulled his hand away, "We're not telling her anything."

"But Nate—"

"This discussion is _over_." Nate declared with finality, completely breaking away from her to stand beside the bed. Serena watched as he quickly bent down, spotting his wallet lying on the floor, his face a picture of overwhelming serenity even after their emotionally charged discussion.

"I'm hungry. What about we grab some lunch? I have a table in the Salon de Ning…"

Serena's heart dropped. Not again.

They're back to square one.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fourteen years ago, Paris, France<strong>_

Like any other ten year old boy faced with the first pangs of Cupid's arrow, Nate Archibald only had one thing in mind when Blair Waldorf is concerned: He wanted to impress her. So when the right opportunity presented itself, he pounced on it like the agile, would-be athlete that he was in the future, his half-baked plans to sneak away from their nannies surprisingly effective, that they were out on the Parisian streets, unchaperoned, five minutes ahead of schedule.

But of course he let Blair take all the credit. Let her think that it was all thanks to her acting skills. She got the bodyguards on the palm of her little hand at 'I-miss-my-Mom-I-wanna-see-her-then-cue-adorable-little-girl-with-ringlet-curls-crying', so he let her be. It was a big contribution anyway.

_Blair—she was so much fun, that way._

"Nate, wait up!"

In the side street they've been walking, just innocently looking around, and Nate didn't notice that she fell a few steps behind until a little while later. _Is this what they call a date?_ He was preoccupied with this question, observing as Blair tottered up to him in a pretty Burberry dress. Maurice told him that in the old times, when two people leisurely walk long enough under the moonlight, it was considered a date. He looked around. Night, check. Moon, check. Leisure walk, check.

This _is_ a date.

"Hey! Why didn't you wait for me?" Blair puffed her cute cheeks up, feigning distress. She raised her hands up and that's when Nate realized that she brought her doll with her, "One of Audrey's shoes fell off and I had to look for it! It's a Burberry limited collection, for Christ's sake!"

Nate pfft-ed. _For Christ's sake?_ He didn't know anybody else allowed to say that! His own mom would be horrified if she ever find out that he heard it from Blair Waldorf of all people!

_Blair is so cool._

"So where are we going?" Blair got up on tiptoe, surveying the area around them. She spotted several cafes ahead filled with people wearing baseball caps and fanny-packs and Nate saw the moment she scrunched her nose, a telltale sign that she wasn't pleased with them.

"Uh, wanna take a taxi to the Eiffel Tower?" He suggested.

Nate immediately knew that he hit the jackpot, because Blair's eyes glowed at him like he was Snow White's Prince Charming (She loves Snow White by the way, and she claims that her features were the inspiration for the said tale. Never mind that it was first created way before her mother was born). This made his little chest puff out, and the glory that he felt was similar to when his father accidentally discovered his gift for Lacrosse.

Blair was sent squealing at the prospect, "Let's do it! Oh and, what about dinner at Le Jules Vernes too?"

"But wouldn't we need prior notice for that? I heard that it's really difficult to get a table up there."

Blair smirked, already showing signs of being a master manipulator at an early age, "Oh c'mon Natie. _You're_ an Archibald. _I'm_ a Waldorf. I've got my Mom's Gold Card, and my backstage pass for tomorrow's Fashion Week…"

Nate shot his brows together. She lost him somewhere after 'Waldorf', "What does any of those have to do with us securing a reservation?"

Blair sighed, but her mood wasn't diminished. You see, she's very used to kids slower than her. "We'll get in, don't worry."

And they flagged for a taxi.

_It's gonna be awesome!_ Nate excitedly thought as a cab slid by and stopped before them, gallantly opening the door for Blair. He could already see it: Blair and he having the time of their lives on the Eiffel Tower. They'll have fun over dinner and they'll look over the great Parisian sights and maybe if he gets lucky he could hold her hand or something.

Maurice would be proud.

Unfortunately, as it happened, Le Jules Verne was never graced by an Archibald or a Waldorf that night.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Time, Sag Harbor, New York<strong>_

Diana Payne was purposefully walking towards the estate's backyard, when she unceremoniously stopped, clenching a cold fist on the stack of folders that she held close to her chest. It was a little pass six and the sun was setting, which only became apparent to her now that she has finally managed to emerge from her office. It has certainly been a long day; the events of the last twenty-four hours not making it any better. Now already at her forties, she should be traipsing the world with her well-deserved monies, drinking margaritas and 'cougaring' shamelessly, yet she is not.

She should have ran away, far, far away, the moment she first set her sights on Jack Bass.

"You, most certainly, give a newfound definition to the word sexy, Diana. Why does it seem like you grow even hotter everytime I see you?"

"Shut up, Jack."

Insert Bass smirk here.

Diana padded her way out to the enormous patio, Jack following her from behind. Due to the urgency of the situation, she was hideously sporting an oversized Dartmouth shirt and tights under a Donna Karan sweater—two decades of perfect sartorial choices thrown out of the window, just like that. Not that she cared how he viewed her ensemble, mind you; it was all due to the desire of being his equal, and looking like a hobo who hasn't seen the confines of a shower stall for ages isn't helping.

"So what did you find?" Jack comfortably sat on one of the lounge chairs. He looked at her pensively for a moment, which didn't turn out to be 'pensive' afterall, "Like the outfit by the way." He motioned a finger to her shirt.

Diana rolled her eyes, and then rapidly shrugging it off. The quicker she gets him out of the house, the better. Now that she thought of it, she should begin planning for a vacation away from all _his _crap. She, then, was about to disclose the contents of the folders, but abruptly changed her mind.

Before she lets all the crazies out, she wanted to be sure of something.

"How is Chuck doing?"

Jack let out an exasperated sigh, "Diana? Why must you shit on my parade?" When Diana didn't reply, looking ridiculously adamant for a woman wearing ungodly tights in front of _the_ Jack Bass, he shook his head in disbelief, "I am told that he was informed of Bart's accident." He stated dispassionately, frowning at her for forcing him so, "Can we now please get into my real reason for being here?"

"Not yet." And to this Diana saw him scowl at her. She didn't care. Even though her allegiance to Jack was unquestionable, there were just some things that were more important than their two decades of casual romping, no matter how satisfying they were. "I want you to promise me that you won't touch him, Jack. I want your word."

Jack shot her a calculating stare, "I still don't get why you're so concerned about that boy. I mean…unless you've developed a certain 'fascination' over him? Wait. You've slept with him? IS that why?"

"You're disgusting."

"Yet you let me fuck you anytime I want." Jack nonchalantly gestured for her folders, tired of this unnecessary delay, "You're testing my patience, D, and I'm surprised that you're doing it of all people, given how much you know me. Now, let's start this all over again, shall we? Since I've played your little _charade_, why don't you be the _good girl_ that _I know_ you are and tell me what's in those folders?"

Diana pressed her lips together. She's always been a realist, which is why she never expected any sort of special treatment from Jack's part. They might have been bedfellows, on and off, all these years, but that didn't change anything. She knew his true capabilities with every fiber of her being, familiar with them like the lines on her hands.

He could still have her killed if it suits his fancy. What makes Jack Bass, _the_ Jack Bass, was his ability to make you feel like he's a good ole harmless friend.

Be that as it may, Diana wasn't swayed.

"I want your word, Jack." Diana held on to her folders with tenacious look on her face, "Chuck stays safe. You are not to touch him. Take it or have somebody else do your snooping for you."

"Fine." Jack crossed his arms together, "I won't touch him, you have my word. And by the way, I'm deeply wounded by your assumptions, D. How could I do that to my own nephew? Plus, he's the fucking heir of Bass Industries. You don't simply screw with that."

"And you're Jack Bass, the next in line if anything happens to him. That's enough motive now, isn't it? It's my turn to be insulted, Jack. I wasn't born yesterday, you know."

Jack shrugged, impatient now that he yanked the dossiers without warning, "I'll chalk that up on our proverbial scoreboard." Diana slapped his arm in frustration, giving him a glare that he could only describe as, well, cute.

"That's really immature." Diana grumpily sat across from him.

"And you're stuffy." Jack flipped on the pages, quickly scanning the report in his hands, "Stuffed shirt."

Diana immediately knew when he finally stumbled on the details that he so desired to know.

"Nathaniel Archibald?"

"Yes." Diana's face became sullen. "Same boy."

"So you're saying that Chuck went to New York because he wanted to amend a certain something-something that has happened a decade ago? I can't believe this."

"Jack, if you must know, the experience of being kidnapped doesn't qualify under the category of 'something-something' for normal people."

Jack cackled, somehow finding her absurd. Diana wasn't new to his kind of insanity that she just sighed.

"Well, excuuuuuuse me, Miss Stuffed Shirt, for being the uncivilized one around here." Jack grinned widely, not in at least disturbed. Looking over the dossier again, he flipped to the next page before pointing at a name that he recognized, highlighted in yellow, "And this Waldorf? I think I read something from the paper this morning about her being engaged to him?"

"Yes." Diana nodded, "My sources say that Chuck attended a party hosted by her the moment he landed. I dug around and nothing came out of that party, though. Nathaniel wasn't even there. Perhaps, Chuck attended the party to befriend the hostess? You know, warm up to her so that she could help him with Nathaniel?"

"Maybe." Jack flipped to the next page, finding a flattering picture of Blair Waldorf coming out of Bergdorf Goodman. She was one pretty thing; he'd give her that.

"Chuck sleeping with her?" the question suddenly came out of nowhere.

Seemingly.

"I don't think so. So far nobody has seen them alone together, and if they were together, they'd be in some party or with the company of people. Mostly Nathaniel's."

Jack was quiet for a while. Diana saw him stare at the picture, like trying to figure something out. He flipped to the next page where several pictures of Chuck where neatly organized. They were mostly solo pictures, except for one that was taken in the Palace with Archibald. Jack flipped back again to Blair's picture, memorizing the lines of her face, as if the act in itself would give him the answer that suited him.

Minutes later, he tapped on the picture lightly, and to Diana's horror, he flashed this smile that she knew he only reserved for his friends in the Black Market.

"I want you to look into this girl, Blair Waldorf." Jack slammed the dossier closed, standing up as he prepared to leave, "Find everything that you can. You know where to find me."

"What? Why? Did you figure something out?"

"Oh yeah. Something big, Darling." Jack tossed the dossier back to the table, turning away, "You might not believe this but, it seems that our Chuckie's all '_growed_' up."

"You're talking nonsense, Jack."

"Or am I?" Jack laughed, a sinister laugh, "Oh Chuckie. Why did you fall in love with the Little Lady?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Pweeeese R&R! And go CHAIR and Harry Winston, woo-hoooo!


	11. Chapter Ten: Cerberus

Devil's Playground

By La Fata Aurora

* * *

><p>Synopsis: She was Manhattan's Princess. He was, possibly, the Devil's Spawn. She was Heaven. He was Hell. They seem to have nothing in common…until the night falls.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Ten: Cerberus<strong>

Stepping on Gotham's streets clad in St. Laurent, Blair was on a mission, a mission to track down Charles Bartholomew Bass.

Now in the middle of the said manhunt, it troubled her to realize the difficulty of the undertaking, and the even more troubling reality that she didn't know much of him at all. While Chuck was able to flawlessly pop up everywhere she was, Blair doesn't even know where he's staying in the city, and the only possible clue she has was the fact that he asked her to meet him in the Plaza yesterday before Nate's banquet. That, unfortunately, became a dead end too. After pulling some strings and such, the receptionist begrudgingly disclosed that the even though the Royal Plaza Suite was booked and paid for, Mister Bass never came to use it.

Which now brings us to the Palace, one of the many assets under Bass Royale. According to an old article she pulled up from the Wall Street Journal, Bass Royale is Bass Industries' hospitality chain subsidiary, the New York Palace being its crown jewel. But that is not exactly what she's pinning for, instead, it's the line on the near bottom of the same article, which states the following:

'…_the younger Bass' pet project, effectively doubling the Palace's revenue_…'

Pet project. It was not much to cling on, but it was enough of a lead. If Chuck was to pick from a list of places that he would comfortably seek refuge in, it would be in his 'pet project' isn't it? Some place where he would most feel affinity to?

Or, at least, that's what Blair would do.

"Hello Dorota?" Blair stepped out of her limo, calling home. She signaled the driver by the opened door to wait for her, whilst holding a large Hermes bag that carried all her manhunting tools, "Any word from Vanya?"

"No, Miss Blair! His 'good' friends know nothing. No word from 'bad' friends yet."

Blair sighed, trudging towards the Palace's front yard, "Fine. Call me as soon as they get back to him. And make sure that they're reliable enough! I have a long list of places to go to thanks to Chuck's family assets and I'm wearing new shoes." She cut the call short just in time to find Serena strolling out of the doors. "S?"

The blonde blinked, and Blair could have sworn they threatened to bulge out, "B! What are you doing here?"

Blair readjusted the strap of her Hermes on her shoulder as she approached. "I'm looking for Chuck." Serena threw her a confused stare that she felt compelled to say more, "I need to talk to him about something but it appears that I have no idea where he's staying."

"He's not here."

Blair's face turned ashen, turning to find Nate stepping up to them, "Nate?"

"Hi, Blair."

Blair stared at him for a moment before looking back to Serena. Her bestfriend now looked like she was about to cry, her blue eyes turning down to her Jimmy Choos. She didn't need to say anything. She had so much guilt inside that Blair's heart went to her.

"S, it's okay." Blair reached for her face to prop her chin up, "Hey, look at me."

Serena trembled, trying hard not to break into tears, but somehow, she managed to look back to her. "I'm sorry, B. I know I should have told you, but I just wanted to help Nate—"

"S!" Nate snapped, glaring at Serena with eyes so hard, surprising Blair as she couldn't remember him looking that threatening ever.

"No!" Serena rebelliously yelled back. She grabbed Blair's hand, and along with it, her attention, "B, I need to tell you something."

"Serena, I'm warning you, don't you dare—"

"What is going on?" Blair glanced at Serena, then at Nate, and then back. Serena was now gripping her hard as if trying to collect all her strength for the next thing. "S? What is it?"

"B! Nate needs you. Listen—"

"S—"

"Shut up, Nate!" Blair cried out impatiently before turning back to her bestfriend. She recognized that face. It was the same face she had when Lily and William filed for their divorce: afraid, confused and very, very much distraught. Pulling her closer, hoping that it helped assuage Nate's hold on her, Blair looked at her closely in the eyes, encouragingly, "Tell me, S. You can tell me anything."

"S, please." Nate was now begging, "We've talked about this—"

"Yes, many times, and look at where it brought us!" Serena shot back, tears now falling from her eyes. Blinking them away, she saw that people were now staring at the three of them, and to this she automatically restrained herself, "B. Did you come here with a car? Let's talk in your car."

Catching on the stares around them, Blair didn't need to be explicitly told, "Yes. It's over there." She pulled Serena towards the limo, and while she's at it, she firmly gestured for Nate to come along, "You're coming too. Let's go."

"Blair, please—"

"Archibald, you owe me this. Now I'm asking you to pay up."

Nate flinched, the cruelty in her words unexpected, "You have no idea what you're talking about, Blair. You have no clue." He sighed deeply, and Blair saw the exhaustion in his features. "This is not easy for me…you have no idea how this is going to make me feel."

Blair frowned before taking his hand. Standing in between two blondes, Blair pulled them all forward to the curb, "I may not know what happened, but I want to help. We were all friends before this, and I'd hate to lose that."

She felt Serena thankfully lean her head on hers. Nate, on the other hand, finally surrendered and squeezed her hand.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Fourteen years ago, France<strong>_

Blair has been crying. Her dress was ruined, her hair was in awful disarray, and Audrey was gone. Scooted inside an offshoot of a tree, she wiped her tears away but they fell stubbornly anyway, the recent events becoming too much even for her. When Nate wished for a night hanging out alone with her, this was definitely not what he had in mind.

It was all his fault. He shouldn't have suggested sneaking out into the city. If he hadn't, they'd be warmly ensconced in the hotel right now, not running away from these strange men that pulled them off their taxi…

"I'll go look for help." Nate whispered, squeezed inside the hole of the offshoot right beside her. They've managed to escape their captors after two long days of apprehension, but while at it, Blair twisted her ankle. The offshoot was a great hiding place, and it should keep Blair safe while he look ahead for help.

"You'll leave me? You can't leave me here!" Blair exclaimed, but her throat was so dry it came out as a small croak. She carefully extended her leg and flinched, her ankle still as twisted as it can be, "What if they find me? I'm not going to be able to escape!"

Nate bit his lip. It was true; Blair would have no means of escaping with her injured foot. However, if they stayed together and were caught together, there'll be no escaping the second time around, and therefore, only God knows when help would ever come for them!

Nate turned to his side. He saw Blair looking at him with frightened, teary eyes. Their last two days with their captors hasn't been easy for them, especially Blair, who's never been treated so roughly in her life. He can't let that happen again. Those pigs were mean, and they were looking at Blair in a way that he didn't like.

Nate sprung out of the hole, taking off his dark coat. He has to take charge, be the man. His father was a great proponent of this, that even at age ten, this maschismo principle has been drilled in the young boy's mind.

He has to protect Blair.

"Here." He covered the Burberry pattern on Blair's dress, creating a camouflage with the tree. Blair squirmed, knowing what he's trying to do. "Stop it, Blair!"

"No, Nate! Don't do it!"

"We have no choice! The offshoot is facing the other way, they'll miss it, trying to catch me." Nate pushed her further inside the hole, creating a covering shadow over her face, "I have to do this Blair. This is the only way I can save you—"

They both froze, the eerie sounds of footsteps wafting their way.

Nate gulped. He looked at Blair, and realized that she heard it too.

"For Christ's sake, stay put." Nate whispered as Blair furiously shook her head. Her eyes welled up again, "Don't make a sound. I'll make a run for it and distract them. You stay here."

"No, Nate. They'll take you back…"

"It's fine. You heard them. It's me that they want." Nate pulled himself away, and with clammy hands, the ten year old boy patted his girl on the sides of her face, "No matter what happens. You'll stay here and don't make a sound."

"Nate, nooooo…"

The footsteps wafted again, but this time, Nate made a run for it.

_Nate! _Blair screamed inwardly, hugging herself inside the tree. She buried her face on the fabric of his blazer, expecting screams and gunfire like in the movies, but for some reason, her greatest fears didn't come to life. For a long while, Blair stayed like that, frozen, waiting and dreading.

It was difficult, but she stayed in the hole fighting the monsters inside her mind. She was exhausted and dizzy, and she would come in and out of consciousness for long periods of time. She didn't realize that two days have already passed, until a kindly policewoman found her inside the hole.

_Nate did it,_ was her first thought. He made it!

Nate saved her, just like Prince Charming!

The next things were all blurry, but all in all, Blair slowly grew accustomed to the familiar whirrings of civilization and the relief that it followed. She found a teary Dorota and her father waiting back at the hotel, and with them was the newly purchased Burberry set that she had her eye on, waiting for her to change into.

It was during her bath that she asked for Nate. She was washing her hair while she did it that she missed the anxious look on Dorota's face.

"Mister Nate back to New York, Miss Blair."

"What? He didn't even wait for me?" Blair managed to open her eyes amidst the shower of water on her head, "Ugh. Very ungentlemanly."

"We go back home after shower. You see him soon."

"Ugh. I'll wait for a few days. I'll _make him wait_ for a few days." Blair sat on the tub and worked on her back, "But I'll get out of here. Paris is giving me the creeps!"

* * *

><p><em><strong>Present Time, New York<strong>_

"Do you remember that time, Blair?"

Serena softly asked, watching her bestfriend's eyes blink a few times as Blair carefully recounted that time when she was ten. She bit her lip morosely. Of course she remembered it clearly; it was the most frightening memory of her childhood!

"I refused going to Paris for three years after that. It's pretty hard not to remember."

Blair felt Nate shift uncomfortably next to her. Her motherly instincts kicking in, Blair looked at him. Serena nodded slowly.

"What else do you remember?"

Blair frowned the Golden Boy, turning back to Serena, "Before, during or after?"

"After."

Blair considered this, lifting a finger over her chin, "Daddy, Dorota and I flew back to New York. I remember the airport being packed with reporters—the media had caught on about the kidnapping. I also remember missing a week of school…"

She blinked again, focusing at Serena, "I didn't see you for a while."

But instead of Serena, it was Nate who stiffened.

Blair couldn't take the suspense any longer, shooting him a glare, "Nate Archibald? What the hell is going on?!"

Serena quickly pulled her back to refocus on her, "B! Please wait! This…" She squeezed Blair's shoulders, forcing her to look at her, "Nate needs this, okay? Things like this can't be rushed."

An ugly feeling suddenly coiled inside Blair's stomach. She mulled over Serena's words, Nate's eyes that wouldn't look at her, their betrayal and the seemingly never-ending strings of secrets that distanced her away from them…

"Nate needs _this_?" Blair whispered, her heart beating furiously as her thoughts flew back to that night in the woods. Nate sacrificed himself that night. He wanted to protect her, and he did that by diverting their captors away. They were safe because of him. But come to think of it…

Blair was never made aware of _how_ he exactly did it.

Back then, Blair just assumed the obvious, the obvious method that her ten year old mind can conjure: Nate found a policeman, and was able to ask for help. End of story. But now at twenty-four, with her mind more attuned to the cruel realities of the world, she couldn't help but find herself hanging precariously over conclusions that she couldn't fathom possible, as they were hideous and obscene—

"Oh Nate—" Tears stung her eyes. Shakily, she cupped her mouth tight, throwing the princely blonde a look of despair that broke their hearts.

"It's okay, B—"

Blair furiously wept as she threw her arms around him, sobbing at the thought of his sacrifice, and how much it would have taken a ten year old to endure it. "I'm so sorry! God, Nate! I'm so, so sorry!"

Nate pulled her deeper into his arms, patting the back of her head, "It's okay now, Blair." He felt her shudder and he brought his hand lower, caressing her back, "Shhh…I'm alright…"

"NO!" Blair yelled angrily, tears messing up her mascara as she flung herself away, "Those bastards are going to pay! I'm going to make them pay for what they did to you! I swear to God, I will! I will hunt them down and make them regret everything—"

Nate managed to smile a little at her mutinous stance. He felt his heart melt at her attempt to fight for his honor, that he found himself having a bit more courage in his part.

"Justice has already been served. Don't you remember? Their head was sent to his death two years after our abduction."

"But—" Clearly, Blair didn't think that it was enough. She tossed a glance at Serena, who was still biting her lower lip anxiously. There was something more, and she could feel it.

Wiping her eyes, Blair took a deep breath, placing her hands strategically on Nate's arms, full of assurance. "I know that you might not want to talk about it but…"

Nate tensed underneath her touch, sensing what she's up to. Blair hesitated a bit, but Nate surprised her by bravely accommodating her request.

"It…it might just be what I need."

Blair's heart glowed with understanding. She took and gripped his hands.

"They…they forced me, Blair."

Blair bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from crying. She has to be strong for Nate. She owes him that much.

She nodded slowly as if urging him to go on.

"I was…I was so young."

Serena looked away. Although she had heard this story many times before, her heart still breaks at the image of Nate being alone in that cruel place. She blinked back her tears.

"It was very trying…It was beyond my control…I felt destroyed, and I just couldn't face you. I adored you so much, I couldn't see why I'd be deserving of you."

Blair's nails dug into his hand. She couldn't believe this. How did things turn out like this?

"Is this why you never touch me?"

"Yes."

Blair felt her face fall. It's too much. Tears burned her eyes, "Oh God…I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself! I thought so badly of you, Nate! I hated you! I hated you so much I—"

She stopped herself. _Oh my God—Chuck_. Her eyes widened.

"I know, Blair." Nate smiled weakly. Blair stared back at him, and she felt so ashamed of herself. How can she be carousing around when Nate felt this way? "It's fine. I-it doesn't matter."

Blair was suddenly left not knowing what to do. Would it be too selfish to look for Chuck now? And what about Nate? What can she do to alleviate his pain?

She let her face fall on her hands, "I don't know what to do! I wish I could help!" She immediately sprung back, "Tell me what it is that I could do for you. Anything, Nate. Anything!"

Nate didn't know what to say. Opening his mouth to speak his mind, he felt his phone vibrate inside his shirt pocket. He frowned at Blair, "Give me one second."

He reached out for the phone, pressing it reluctantly on his ear, "Nate Archibald."

Blair and Serena saw him frown the moment he recognized who the caller was.

"I don't really give a damn about what they say, Mom." Nate listened for a moment and then sighed, "I'm not doing that to Blair, and this is a personal issue between the two of us!"

He prematurely cut the call. Angrily, he effortlessly broke the phone into two before throwing it across the car.

"Nate." Blair, surprised again by another facet of him, gave him a curious look.

"No Blair. Our engagement is a private matter. I don't care how it looks right this moment but I'll leave the decision to you. I'm not letting you have any of this election crap."

Blair shuddered at the implications of the situation. She truly wanted to help him, whatever it takes, but if Chuck finds out—

Blair didn't have the luxury to think about that now. A plan forming in her mind, she shook her head stubbornly, "I'll do it."

Nate blinked at her incredulously, "What?"

"I'll stay…with you." Blair stammered a bit, but before Nate gets the wrong idea, she quickly added, "I'm still undecided…I need to think this through—"

"Of course. Of course." Although Nate didn't even attempt to hide the hope that spread across his features, "We have to go back to the townhouse."

"No wait. Before that, I need to ask a favor from you." Blair looked a little uncertain, not exactly sure how to say it, "It's about Chuck Bass."

"Oh."

Blair clasped her hands uneasily, "I need to know where he is."

Nate, the gentleman that he is, didn't permit himself to ask. "Would you want me to take you to him?"

"If its not much to ask."

Nate nodded with understanding. Reaching over for the car partition, he knocked on it loudly enough for the driver to pull it open.

"Yes, Mr. Archibald?" the driver, accustomed to him giving directions instead of Blair, asked.

"To Hotel Empire, please."

* * *

><p><strong><em>AN:_** It's been a long time my lovelies! WHOA! It's October already! But I did tell you that I'd finish this story...although it's still a long way from there since, obviously, the new plot is just about to begin. Thank you for everybody who's been supporting this fic! Please tell me what you think so far!

XOXO,  
><strong><em>-LFA-<em>**


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